


A Perfect Ten

by meshkol (ashernorton)



Category: Glee
Genre: Canonical Character Death - Finn Hudson, Childhood Trauma, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Conversations of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Past Suicide Attempt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 91,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashernorton/pseuds/meshkol
Summary: There are moments when one's entire life changes.Kurt won’t recognise it at first, won’t understand that his entire life will be altered beyond comprehension, and that he’ll be forever changed by the experience, but he will be, completely and totally, without a sliver of doubt.
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Comments: 29
Kudos: 153





	1. Life-Changing Moments

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of almost two years of back-and-forth writing, as I was only capable of doing it in small chunks due to the heavy and incredibly personal content. I'm not entirely sure why it came out in this <s>dead</s> fandom, but it did, and I really wanted to get it out so I just let it happen as my brain wanted it to.
> 
> This is unbeta'd and rough, and contains very hard content including, but not limited to: **graphic conversations of childhood sexual trauma and abuse, drug use (heroin, specifically), anorexia, and mental breaks due to trauma**. Any of the 'help' or 'comfort' portions of this fic are not endorsed by clinical psychologists and are solely my own personal experiences within these subject matters. Don't bother commenting about how you don't agree with Kurt's methods or think that they're problematic/manipulative/wrong/blahblahblah, because I don't particularly give a shit – these methods helped _me_, and I'm projecting my experiences onto Sebastian here, which means that my experiences are important and valid here, not yours. If you don't like something done in the fic, the back arrow/button is there for a reason.
> 
> Please don't read if any of the tags, warnings, etc are triggering to you in any way. This was written solely for me, as a bastardised form of therapy. You have been warned.

Prologue  
_Life-Changing Moments_

–

“It doesn’t matter where you are, you are nowhere compared to where you can go.”  
Bob Proctor

There are moments when one’s entire life changes.

_Five_.

It’s unexplainable, unpredictable, and unimaginable even in one’s wildest dreams, and the only thing a person can do is just try to process it as best as they can until they can make some semblance of logic or peace with it. It’s especially difficult when it totally upends every single aspect of the person’s worldview, because everything they’ve ever understood or comprehended about an individual, even a three-dimensional individual, is turned on its head and spun, like an out-of-control top that’s been boosted by jet engines and the furious hand of God.

_Four_.

Kurt Hummel has had a lot of those moments in his life. David Karofsky is a good example of it, even though it’s sort of a bad cliché because how many times has he seen or heard a story about the gay jock who’s hiding behind a mask of homophobia? Rachel’s acceptance letter into NYADA when Kurt had been denied is another one, because never in a million years would he have ever imagined she’d get accepted when she had utterly choked in her audition; Kurt not getting in makes a twisted kind of sense, because Kurt never gets what he wants in life while everyone else does, but still, Rachel getting in after bombing her audition had utterly crushed Kurt beyond any comprehensible belief. Blaine cheating on him is yet another, because they were meant to be together forever, and Blaine had been just as timid about finally having sex as Kurt had been, so it was just insane to think that Blaine would just spread his...well, Kurt’s still trying to wrap his head around it, to be honest.

_Three_.

The biggest ones are his parents – his dad’s heart attack and the subsequent aftercare that had been needed to get Burt healthy again, as well as the prostate cancer that he’s just beaten (and Kurt is filled with so much relief that he thinks he might pass out), and then of course his mother. His beautiful mother with her lily perfume and golden hair, making Kurt waffles in the morning before school and then having to see her battered, brain-dead body on life support after the car accident by lunch. His entire life had shifted in that moment, because he had had a mother one second and then she was gone, six feet under and dead-dead-dead.

_Two._

He’s not sure what’s worse: the horror of losing a parent in a split second and not being able to say goodbye, or watching cancer drag out the process (not that Burt’s dying, since he’s _in remission_ thank _God_, but Kurt knows how cancer works...it goes into remission, sure, but it always comes back, _always_).

_One._

In a few moments, Kurt’s going to have another life changing moment, and it’s just as unexplainable, unpredictable, and unimaginable as all the others, made even more unfathomable considering he’s _just_ dealt with the emotional blow that his dad is cancer-free. He won’t recognise it at first, won’t understand that his entire life will be altered beyond comprehension, and that he’ll be forever changed by the experience, but he will be.

He doesn’t even have a choice.

_Zero_.


	2. Part One: When the World Changes

Part One  
_When the World Changes_

–  
“The marks humans leave are too often scars.”  
John Green

Kurt takes a moment to just walk around the imposing hospital, pulling himself together.

His dad and Carole are in a private meeting with the oncologist, talking about regular check-ups to monitor his remission and possible surgeries and everything that comes with that, and Kurt just needs fresh air to get his head straight. It’s helping with the feeling of light-headedness, and the sounds of Columbus remind him of New York, which is soothing to his frayed nerves. He knows that he’s free to return to New York now, because his dad is going to be okay, and that’s a relief too – he’s missed two days of classes now (though it’s nearly Spring Break now so he won’t be missing much more school), and while he’s more than content with his decision to come home for the news, he also knows that Carole’s a nurse, and Burt will be perfectly fine in her care.

He’s decided to return to the oncology ward now that he feels somewhat stable, and he’s passing the Emergency entrance when Kurt sees him.

His hair is shorter, and he’s virtually unrecognisable under the gauze and bruising and blood-splattered clothes, but Kurt would still recognise Sebastian Smythe anywhere. Despite walking gingerly out of the A&E, he’s still tall and lanky (though he looks horribly thin, rather than the lean form Kurt remembers), and his swollen right eye doesn’t hide the hazel green that’s haunted Kurt since that first meeting at the Lima Bean.

Kurt watches him painfully make his way to the bench on the other side of the circular drive where ambulances stop, sitting down with a hiss that Kurt can hear even over the sounds of traffic, and despite their turbulent and nasty history, Kurt finds himself stopping to watch. Sebastian uses the hand that isn’t in a sling to gingerly pat his pockets, eventually pulling out a mobile from his jeans with shaking fingers. He drops the mobile on the bench, seemingly unable to keep a hold on it, but he eventually picks it up and uses his leg to steady his grip. It doesn’t help though, because after a few long moments, it’s clear that Sebastian’s mobile isn’t going to work.

Kurt’s hesitance to approach his past nemesis evaporates when Sebastian throws the mobile as far as he can, which isn’t really far because Sebastian is clearly in pain, judging by how he immediately curls into himself upright, his knees coming up and feet planting on the edge of the bench. Kurt can’t help but feel a tingle of something akin to pity, and he’s always been soft-hearted even to people who don’t deserve it.

But at the same time, though Kurt hasn’t seen nor heard much about him since David’s attempted suicide and the performance afterwards, he knows from whispers that Sebastian’s been keeping his head down. That, if anything, makes Kurt a bit more comfortable with approaching the boy, because even though he’s sure he’s the _last_ person Sebastian wants to see, it’s obvious that he needs some help, even if it’s something as simple as a mobile to call a ride.

Kurt pulls out his own mobile from his back pocket and tentatively stops at the end of the bench, handing it out after he unlocks it. Quietly, he says, “Here, use mine. I’ll take a few laps around, give you some privacy, okay?”

Sebastian doesn’t speak or look up, his entire body a tense, shaking ball with his knees tight against his chest, and Kurt doesn’t know what to do. He feels a curl of dread in his chest and throat, his stomach churning nauseatingly, because whatever’s happened, it’s _bad_, and Kurt can’t help but think the worst considering the reputation Sebastian has with bars and drinking and—

Kurt sits down, hesitates, and then does the only thing he really can: he simply pulls the battered boy in and gingerly wraps his arms around him.

Kurt feels his mobile vibrate in his hand but he ignores it, because right now the only thing he needs to focus on is Sebastian, who’s clenching into Kurt’s shirt in a grip that might ruin the fabric and shaking like a leaf, but he’s not crying, so at least there’s that. Kurt’s not sure what he’d do if Sebastian fucking Smythe started crying on him, because surely that would mean that the world was coming to an end, right?

Either way, it feels like hours before Sebastian grows still, his breathing slow and the shaking sporadic at best, but Kurt just absently scratches at his short hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture with his free hand. Maybe Kurt’s not the most appropriate person for this, especially in the late morning sunshine where anyone could see them, and Sebastian is probably horrified that Kurt’s doing the comforting, but if there’s anything that Kurt knows, it’s that sometimes it’s nice to have someone to hold for just a moment until the world rights itself somewhat. And if anything, Sebastian can be confident in the fact that Kurt won’t tell anyone. If Kurt didn’t turn him in after assaulting Blaine with a slushie despite having the confession recorded, then Kurt’s definitely not going to gossip about Sebastian’s situation, though maybe that doesn’t matter because based off the beaten state of him, Sebastian’s not exactly going to be able to hide it.

“Why are you even here?” Sebastian mumbles, and Kurt’s rather surprised that Sebastian says it into Kurt’s shirt instead of pulling away. Maybe it’s because he wants to hide a bit longer, or maybe it’s because the shaking fit had aggravated his injuries and he doesn’t want to move until the pain goes down, but Kurt doesn’t mind either way. He’s not going to shove Sebastian away, even if this entire..._thing_ is the last thing he had ever expected when walking around the hospital to clear his head.

Instead, he continues running his fingers through Sebastian’s short hair, which is vaguely damp (probably from a cleaning solution, because he’s had to avoid a long, bandaged cut covered in gauze, and it’s always better to clean blood away from a wound before dressing it), and replies honestly, “My dad. He has prostate cancer, but his oncologist just told us that he’s in remission, so I needed to...breathe for a minute.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Sebastian sighs. “That’s good then,” he says, his voice hoarse and tired and practically a whisper, and Kurt wonders if they gave Sebastian any painkillers, or if he needs to go fill a prescription. Or, hell, if he has a concussion, or isn’t allowed painkillers for fear of making things worse. Kurt’s familiar with that too, with all the years he’s been bullied, though he’s _never_ been in the state that Sebastian’s in.

“Yeah,” Kurt breathes out with a sigh of his own. Then, steeling himself for what could turn into an argument, he asks, “What do you need, Sebastian?” The boy in question stiffens and Kurt can feel him pull away, so Kurt lets him go, fingers trailing down his neck and shoulder before he makes a light fist and returns his hands to his lap. Sebastian’s already going into fight-or-flight mode, Kurt can tell, because he’s been there loads of times, and so he adds quickly, “I’ve offered you my mobile, since you’ve thrown yours halfway to Indiana.”

Surprisingly, Sebastian lets out a soft snort at the rather bad joke, though he immediately curls into himself again with a hiss of pain, and Kurt’s hands twitch in Sebastian’s direction. He’s never been good at simply standing (or in this case sitting) there, doing nothing while someone is in pain right in front of him, even when it comes to ex-rivals.

“Sorry,” Kurt apologises quietly, but Sebastian’s shaking his head before he even finishes the word.

“No, don’t apologise,” he mutters in a barely-audible slur, head buried in his knees and his hurt arm pressing against his ribs in between. “You’re not treating me like glass. S’nice.”

They’re quiet again, because Kurt doesn’t know what to say to that either, so he unlocks his mobile again and shoots off a quick text to Carole, who’s always been better at it than his dad. When he’s done texting Carole that he’ll just meet them in Lima, he doesn’t bother turning it off, setting it on the bench in between them before he finally says airily, “Well, despite the state of your face, you’re the last person I’d consider glass.”

Kurt’s weirdly pleased when said bruised and bandaged face slowly turns his direction, a crooked smile on the split lips that’s unexpectedly genuine. Up close, Kurt can see the damage in the direct light, and he almost wants to flinch at the sight of it. His bottom lip is puffy and the corner is stitched up, just like his eyebrow and cheekbone and down the side of his jaw. It seems like every inch of skin is black and blue, and there are imprints of what look like finger-shaped bruises on his _neck_, and hell if that’s something he’s never actually seen before except in films. He miraculously doesn’t cringe though, and instead relishes that he managed to get a smile out of Sebastian, even if it looks incredibly painful.

Instead of responding to Kurt’s statement, the smile eventually fades into something expressionless, and Sebastian says in that same hoarse whisper, “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t even know where I’m going. It’s not like I can go back to Dalton like this.”

Kurt wants to ask, to pry and wheedle the information about _why_ Sebastian looks ‘like this’ in the first place, but he forces himself to stay quiet. Sebastian and Kurt aren’t friends, or even passing acquaintances, and besides, if Sebastian wants to talk about it, Kurt would bet his life savings that Kurt isn’t Sebastian’s first choice to spill the story to. In any case, it’s not really even Kurt’s business, though he’s horribly curious and concerned, so he makes himself swallow his questions and focus on what’s important. Namely getting Sebastian off a bench in front of an A&E and into a bed.

“Do you have any family around here?” Kurt asks cautiously, opting against asking about parents specifically and instead going with a diplomatic ‘family’. He never likes asking about someone’s parents, as he knows how painful it can be from first-hand experience when someone asks about parents that are gone, and all he knows about Sebastian’s family is that his father is a state’s attorney. He’s never mentioned his mother, or any siblings, and Kurt doesn’t want to bring up something that might be a painful reminder.

Something that looks like a frown pops up onto Sebastian’s swollen lips, though it could be a grimace for all Kurt knows. “Yeah, but the last people I want to go to is my father and Nina,” Sebastian answers, though there’s no real anger in his tone that would suggest a bad relationship. “I mean, they’re going to find out anyway, because the insurance’ll get billed, but that’ll take weeks to go through and I’ll be better by then. It’ll be easier to shrug it off when it’s not staring them in the face, y’know?”

Something twists in Kurt’s stomach, and he feels the words bubbling in his throat (_you’ve been beaten to a pulp and you have to tell _someone_, Sebastian_), but the thing is, it’s not Kurt’s place to make that decision for him. If Sebastian wants to hold off his dad and whoever Nina is for the time being, then it’s his decision, not Kurt’s, even if Kurt doesn’t agree with it. He doesn’t even know what Sebastian’s trying to hide in the first place, so he can’t make a logical decision based off ambiguous facts.

So Kurt swallows down the words with an audible clicking noise, and then he says, “Well, you either call friends, if you even have friends instead of evil minions—” At the jab, Kurt shoots a smile at Sebastian so the other boy knows Kurt’s teasing, and he’s relieved to see it returned, albeit weakly. “—or you get dragged to Lima by yours truly until you figure out what you want to do next.”

Sebastian stares at him with bloodshot green eyes, one nearly hidden by a very swollen eyelid, for a very long time, barely blinking, but Kurt doesn’t let himself get intimidated. He needs Sebastian to understand that Kurt’s not kidding, that he will literally manhandle the idiot two hours away just so Sebastian’s not sleeping alone in a hotel room with a body covered in injuries and a probable concussion, and Carole’s a damned nurse too. If anything, it’d be better for him to stay with Kurt just for that fact alone, because he has no idea what the doctors told Sebastian to do with himself to heal properly, and it’s clear that Sebastian’s going to try and go it alone.

Instead of answering, Sebastian says with an edge of petulance in his hoarse voice, “I have friends. I even have friends I haven’t fucked, as hard as it may be for you to believe.” Kurt raises an eyebrow, because he’s not a moron, and despite all his faults Sebastian is a charming bastard who probably _does_ have a lot of friends (even if they aren’t _close_), but Kurt doesn’t get to respond because after a brief hesitation, Sebastian adds, “But to be fair, most of them are still grounded, whatever that means.”

Both of Kurt’s eyebrows go up at that, and Sebastian rolls his eyes with a grimace. “Surprisingly not my fault. Turned over a new leaf, remember?” Kurt just blinks at him, so Sebastian continues in that same slow, hoarse slur, “The whole steroids thing that the Warblers got hit for, y’know? I didn’t participate, because I’d lose my slot to Columbia, but most of them did because they gave into Hunter’s pressure like idiots, and so they’re officially grounded by their parents until the end of eternity. Or at least until their parents get bored.”

Kurt gapes a bit, as he’s never really heard Sebastian _speak_ so much in one setting without insulting someone (and sure, there’s a bit of snideness in there, but it also sounds...well, _fond_, and Kurt’s not sure how he feels about that), so Sebastian clearly takes pity on him with another painful-looking eyeroll. “And I’m not going home with you. In case it hasn’t registered, I’m not exactly capable of putting out right now so...”

Kurt splutters, outraged, and opens his mouth with a shrill inhale to rage, because why would Sebastian even _think_ Kurt would do something like that?! However, he sees the half-hearted glint of amusement in the smiling arsehole’s eyes and deflates immediately, somewhat embarrassed over his admittedly predictable reaction to Sebastian’s joke.

Though, the fact that he’s joking about putting out gives Kurt at least a bit of hope that Sebastian hasn’t been sexually assaulted. Of course, not everyone reacts to sexual assault the same way, Kurt knows, but he still desperately prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that Sebastian _wasn’t_ raped, and that this is a (small...maybe) sign that he hadn’t been.

“Oh shut up, Sebastian,” Kurt grumbles, but he can feel the small smile on his own lips regardless.

They smile tentatively at each other for a few seconds before Sebastian’s expression smooths out to the same impassive look from before, though with more pain. Kurt feels that spark of worry starting to creep its way up his oesophagus again and he hastily says as evenly as he can manage, “Well, my dad won’t ask questions, and my step-mum’s a nurse, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea, but if you’re dead set against it, you obviously don’t have to go. I’m just throwing out ideas here.”

Sebastian shifts a bit, looking back to his knees, and he mumbles, “Look, I’ll just call a cab and check into a hotel for a few days. It’s not the first time, Hummel.”

Kurt frowns and says quietly, “I’m sure it’s not, but I know you shouldn’t be alone with injuries, especially with a concussion.”

Sebastian is quiet, and then says with a fairly obvious bravado, though the effect is shot by the light slur, “Why would you think I have a concussion?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but it’s more out of habit rather than irritation for once. “Because you look like someone chained you to the back of a truck and dragged you ten miles down a gravel road, and then kicked you a few times for good measure.” Sebastian snorts again, makes an aborted gasp of discomfort, pauses, and then slowly relaxes again as the palpable ache eases. Kurt decides to ignore it, because Sebastian will puff up again like a terrified kitten if Kurt’s not careful, and continues lightly, “Not to mention the slurring, the inability to focus for long, and the obvious fact that your head is killing you. You can’t be drunk _and_ hungover at the same time, so I’m going with concussion.”

Sebastian lets out a soft huff and grumbles without much heat, “You clearly haven’t been on a bender in your life. Why am I not surprised?”

Kurt’s actually less annoyed at the jab than amazed that Sebastian apparently _has_ been drunk and hungover at the same time. He’s not even sure how that’s even possible, but nevertheless, it is Sebastian, and if anyone’s been in that position before, it’s the self-proclaimed party boy.

“Well, as fascinating as your insipid hints of debauchery and substance abuse are, Sebastian, you still need to make a decision, and just to warn you, I’m not letting you go to a hotel by yourself,” Kurt finally says, shaking off the thought and focussing back on the matter at hand.

It earns him a glare, but Kurt’s not impressed because Sebastian’s eyes are hazy at best, and he’s clearly fighting to stay awake. He’s even starting to sway a bit, and Kurt finally gives into temptation, standing up and helping Sebastian lay down on the bench as easily as he can. Kurt hears him breathe out something along the lines of ‘_no Lima, no parents, just get me out of here_’ before he manages to somewhat relax into the fastest light doze Kurt’s ever seen someone fall into. Kurt just shakes his head, notices a nurse in purple scrubs watching Sebastian with concern, and Kurt is just too emotionally drained _and_ dreadfully worried to deal with life right now. He himself just wants to curl up into a ball and sleep until the world manages to right itself again, but until he gets Sebastian fucking Smythe in a bed, he’s out of luck.

With a bone deep sigh, Kurt turns to the nurse and asks, “I’m not sure if you attended him in there, but d’you know if Sebastian has a concussion, or if there’s anyone I can talk to so I can get that information? He just spoke around the topic without telling me anything, and I just want to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself even more than he already is.”

The nurse – Nancy, according to her name tag – gives Kurt a relieved smile. “At least someone came to pick the poor kid up. He just said that he was going to call a cab and I know that he’s over sixteen, but still, he’s not exactly in the best shape.” Then she grows serious and tacks on, “I can’t _technically_ give out any information to anyone that isn’t his parents, but I will tell you that he needs to be watched for the next few days. Wake him up every hour or so, even if he complains, and make sure he takes those painkillers we gave him a script for, okay?”

_So definitely a concussion then_, Kurt thinks with another internal sigh, wondering what in the hell he can do now. Instead of speaking this aloud, Kurt simply smiles tiredly at her and says, “Thanks. Is it...I mean, I’m sure you’re busy, but I was actually in the oncology ward with my dad who just went into remission, and my car’s closer to that side of the building, and I _really_ don’t want to leave h—”

“Of course, sweetie; I’m on break anyway. And congrats on your dad’s remission,” Nancy says genuinely, waving him off, and Kurt gives her a brief grin in thanks before he begins briskly walking toward the opposite end of the building, eventually falling into a light jog in his haste. He doesn’t even give more than a split-second’s thought to his clothes, and he wonders during his jog if he even has the energy to return to Lima, change his clothes, fix his face (because he’s surely blotchy and has bags under his eyes), and go to McKinley for the song dedicated to his dad. Maybe without factoring Sebastian into it, he would’ve been able to, riding on the joy of his dad’s remission, but right now all he can think about is that battered, restlessly dozing boy on a hard bench outside a Columbus A&E, and he’s screwed. There’s no way that Kurt can leave him alone, and he’s unwilling to go against Sebastian’s wishes by dragging him to Lima, so a hotel it is, at least until Sebastian’s had some rest and is lucid enough to make a concrete decision. Luckily, it’s a Thursday, so he can postpone the performance until Friday when he drops Sebastian off...wherever, and Sebastian himself can take a long weekend to recover a bit with someone he trusts.

Kurt can’t believe he’s in this situation, really. It’s definitely something unexplainable, unpredictable, and unimaginable, that’s for sure.

He just doesn’t know how things will change because of his decision to help Sebastian, if anything even _can_ change.

* * *

It’s a hassle getting Sebastian into bed.

Getting him into the rental car, finding a hotel that has a room on the first floor and is in Kurt’s price range _and_ is right next to a CVS, jimmying the hotel room door to stay open, getting him _out_ of the rental car, and finally placing him gently into one of the double beds is no small feat. Though Sebastian weighs a lot less than Kurt would’ve imagined, considering he’s an avid sports player and dances on Mike Chang’s level, he’s still a dead weight due to his unconsciousness.

Kurt stares at him for a long minute, taking in the bloody clothes and too-thin body and the flickering of his eyes underneath black eyelids, and then sighs. He really can’t believe this is happening, but at the same time, Kurt is glad that he’s here, because the alternative – Sebastian having no one – is a thousand times worse.

Kurt unties Sebastian’s Chuck Taylors and pulls them off as gently as he can manage, laying then quietly on the side of the bed, and then sits on the other double, pulling out his mobile. He checks his banking app, mentally calculating his budget for a trip to the CVS, before he shoots off a quick text to Mercedes and Carole, telling them that the performance needs to be postponed until tomorrow’s Glee and that he’ll be back in Lima tomorrow. He only tells them that he’s helping a friend out when they both inevitably ask what he’s doing, and then tells them goodbye, with a few emojis to soften what could easily sound like a fatalistic sound bite. He also texts Rachel something similar but even more deliberately ambiguous, if only to keep her placated enough to stop her from calling him constantly looking for either gossip to take her mind off the callback or the callback itself, but he’s surprisingly thankful when she doesn’t respond (she probably thinks that he’s hooking up with Blaine again, but he’ll clear that up when he gets back to New York). She’s probably in her panicky head space anyway, and is singing Fanny Brice at ear-splitting volume in their flat without having to listen to him bitch about it.

He glances at Sebastian one last time, curled up on his side in the foetal position as if it hurts to stretch out, and jots down a quick note on the notepad before he leaves a single key card on the table and leaves. He practically runs the way to the CVS on the corner, out of breath and thankful of the still-chill air of spring in Ohio by the time he makes it to the entrance, and manages to fill up a basket with the necessities: more gauze, Neosporin, medical tape, plasters, the strongest ibuprofen they have, basic toiletries, and even some spare clothes that Kurt figures are in Sebastian’s approximate size. Not that he’s mentally measured out Sebastian Smythe’s body (well, not since that first meeting, when he’d seen this tall, lanky, gorgeous boy talking to his boyfriend but Kurt ignores that) but still. The pyjama bottoms are cheap and unflattering, and the shirts are plain black, but it’s better than nothing, and it’s not like CVS is the peak of fashion. It’s just something comfortable to let him sleep in that _isn’t_ covered in blood.

Since Kurt can’t sleep in what he’s wearing either – because good-luck clothes or not, he’s still fashionable, and his pants _are_ rather tight – he gets another set for himself too. He’ll deal with the unavoidable freak-out on Sebastian’s end when they’ve both caught a few winks of much-needed sleep.

He heads back with his stomach twisting, worried that he’s left Sebastian too long and he’ll be dead or gone or something, but Sebastian’s still sleeping deeply when Kurt creeps his way into the hotel room. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief at the sight, then dumps the bags of purchases on his neatly made bed, quickly to get the noise out of the way. Sebastian doesn’t stir, so Kurt steels his mental fortitude and with a quick “I am _so_ sorry I’m doing this without your permission” in Sebastian’s direction, he starts undressing Sebastian as tentatively as possible.

Obviously, Kurt leaves his pants on, but Kurt still hastily removes his jeans and socks so he can replace them with the pyjama bottoms. However, he can’t help but stop before redressing him, because there are some cuts that are crusty with a bit of blood and that clear fluid wounds get, and he can’t in good conscience redress Sebastian without cleaning him off at least a little bit. Infections are the worst whenever the body is already battered, Kurt knows from experience, and so he goes to the sink in the corner of the room and runs the water for a bit until it’s on the warm side of hot. He fills a plastic cup and then tears open a bag of cotton balls, starting the process of cleaning up the mess as much as he can before he smears some Neosporin on the wounds with his fingertip and covering it with a plaster if he thinks it needs one. It’s slow going, because Sebastian’s uncooperative with his limbs and there’s just _so much damage_, but nothing looks too dangerous if Kurt can look past the bruising.

He eventually finishes Sebastian’s legs, avoiding getting too high because it’s kind of embarrassing (even though Kurt’s pretty sure that Sebastian’s had more than enough people around _that_ area of his body and probably wouldn’t even care), and slips on the pyjama bottoms with a fair bit of bother. Sebastian’s long limbs are simply impossible to manhandle without being a bit heavy-handed with it, and Kurt’s both relieved that he’s not waking Sebastian up and worried because surely someone would wake up if their injured body was being pushed and pulled into various positions, right?

Kurt chokes down his worry though and focusses on Sebastian’s upper half, opting to just use the scissors and cut the shirt off instead of manoeuvring his way around the sling and arms and torso itself, because it’s really not worth the hassle. In any case, Kurt is relieved that Sebastian is on his side, because he can get to the majority of the damage this way, though it _is_ admittedly a bit weird when he has to climb into bed with him briefly so Kurt can clean up his back and the head wounds in his short hair.

Eventually all that’s left is his face, and Kurt swallows thickly before he forces himself to lightly shake Sebastian awake, a tired half-smile popping onto his lips when Sebastian grumbles and complains in a hoarse, exhausted slur. Kurt doesn’t let him get away with it though, coaxing him to let Kurt see his face, and then suddenly everything feels really awkward because Sebastian’s _watching_ Kurt with an alarming alertness as he gently cleans the skin around the stitches with a mostly dry cotton ball, not wanting to get the sutures too damp. Kurt tries to ignore the tired green eyes, one swollen almost shut, but it’s somehow intimate, because it’s not like Kurt can really rush as he smooths in the lightest of layers of Neosporin on the slope of his stubbled jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the light hairs of his eyebrow...on the chapped flesh of his shapely lips.

He tilts Sebastian’s face up with a light press of his fingertips to his chin, all so he can clean around the gouges that are clearly from fingernails (and _God_, the person who did this probably tried to _kill_ Sebastian, judging by the violence on his neck, and Kurt feels sick just looking at it), and Sebastian’s still watching him when he all but whispers, “Why are you doing this? You don’t even like me.”

Kurt averts his eyes and dabs at the gouges as he tries to formulate a response that doesn’t sound overly sentimental, because Sebastian’s right: Kurt _doesn’t_ like him that much. But still, he can’t help but want to be there anyway, personal feelings be damned, because even an arsehole like Sebastian deserves some assistance in such a state. By the time he’s finished cleaning it up and is starting to squeeze the almost-empty tube of Neosporin onto his finger, he replies honestly, “If I was in your position, I’d hope that someone would afford me the same...well, kindness, I guess, even if it came from someone I didn’t care for.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Sebastian’s lips, still crooked to keep from pulling at the stitches on the left side of his mouth, as he says, “Well, that was sappy.”

There’s no derision in his tone, but Kurt still huffs in exasperation and shoots back, “I’m a sappy person and you’re stuck with me for the time being, so deal with it.” Distractedly, he stretches out his left leg to the side as he applies the ointment, knees aching and needing some relief from the hard floor, and adds, “And sorry, but I sort of cut your shirt off. I personally felt no sympathy to that crime against fashion, but if it was a favourite, then you’re out of luck.”

Sebastian hums a bit, not replying, and Kurt decides to take that as acquiesce to the destruction of his shirt, because he’s pretty sure that even a tired, in-pain Sebastian Smythe would’ve said something if it had been a problem. He finishes with the scratches, not bothering with plasters, and then gratefully pushes himself to his feet, knees cracking in the silence of the room. He picks up the cup of water and rubbish, makes his way to the sink, and dumps the water before tossing the rubbish in the bin. He starts washing his hands clean of the fluids and Neosporin, slow and methodically, and as he dries them, he asks cautiously, “Are you good there? D’you need anything?”

Sebastian remains silent, for so long that Kurt thinks he’s fallen back asleep, but when he goes back to grab the other pair of pyjama bottoms, Sebastian’s green eyes are open and staring unseeingly at the mess of first aid products on Kurt’s bed. Kurt simply lets him be, mumbling a quiet few words about going to clean up before he grabs his pyjama bottoms, one of the shirts, and the toiletries so he can disappear into the bathroom.

He stands there for a long minute, exhausted from his sleepless nights and the emotional rollercoaster he’s starting to come down from and wondering if it’s weird to shower. In the end, he decides to go for it, because he really just needs to be clean before he can hopefully try and nap. He’s going to be waking up just as constantly as Sebastian is, after all, and he doesn’t want to lay in bed, his brain revolting against not being clean every time he wakes up to rouse Sebastian.

His shower is short, Kurt standing under the blistering heat for only a few moments of comfort before he hurriedly washes his hair and body with subpar product, though it is better than nothing. It feels a bit wrong to linger in the luxury of a shower when Sebastian’s not going to be able to _really_ get clean for a few days, because showers and stitches don’t really go too well together immediately after an injury, so he feels morally obligated to rush as much as he can stomach, as he doesn’t want to rub it in Sebastian’s face.

Besides, it’s a little strange showering while Sebastian’s half-naked just a few metres away in a hotel room of all places, even if it’s not really different than showering after a gym class or something.

He dries off, puts on his new sleepwear with a small amount of difficulty due to the humidity, and then takes his folded clothes out to put on the chair by the desk. He can feel Sebastian’s eyes on him but he resists the temptation to look back, instead going back to the sink to brush his teeth and use the moisturiser (more expensive than the rest of his purchases, but he’s touchy about his skin). By the time he feels as clean as he’s going to get, he figures he’s at ease enough to finally engage Sebastian, and walks back to his bed to clear off the mess. As he puts the first aid stuff back into the CVS bags, he glances over at Sebastian and says, “Do you need anything? I bought you some soup and ibuprofen, since I couldn’t fill your prescription for you, and there’s a new toothbrush and mouthwash in there if you want it. I’m sure you can get around on your own, but if you need anything, just tell me and I’ll help, even if it’s simple, like, I don’t know, comfort food or something.”

Sebastian just watches Kurt speak, and Kurt’s tempted to ramble like he does when he gets nervous or uncomfortable. It’s just _strange_ to be the focus of Sebastian’s stare, especially _this_ Sebastian, who should look small all curled in on himself and more bones than muscle but somehow seems just as poignant as he always does. Kurt manages to hold his tongue though, and after an answer doesn’t seem forthcoming, he simply looks down at his mobile so he can set an alarm for every hour. He’s thankful that he charged his mobile through the rental, but the battery’s still half-empty, so after a moment of hesitation he puts it into aeroplane mode, hoping that no one tries to call him in the next few hours as he places it on the nightstand between the two beds.

Without another word and still feeling awkward – because this is _really_ not what he had expected his day would be like when he woke up this morning – he lays on top of the covers and closes his eyes, turning away from Sebastian’s eyes and praying that it doesn’t take him an age to fall asleep in this bizarre situation he’s found himself in.

He barely even finishes the thought before he’s unconscious.

* * *

Staccato sleep and repeatedly shaking Sebastian awake makes everything both more normal and yet dreamlike.

He doesn’t care that he’s probably got a terrible case of bedhead considering that he’d fallen asleep with wet hair, or that he probably has creases on his face from the starchy pillows, or that there’s a chance (however small) that he’s snoring or something potentially embarrassing like that. It’s just a constant cycle of alarm-drag himself out of bed-shake Sebastian’s bare shoulder-get him to mumble something-go back to bed, and he can’t be arsed to care about anything except the next precious hour of rest. Those hours bleed together like a droplet of watercolour paint on a wet canvas until Kurt’s not even sure how long they’ve been duplicating the same sequence, wash-rinse-repeat.

Eventually though, his eyes open, sleep-rough and automatically adjusted to the darkness of the room, the only light coming from the small crack between the blackout curtains. He knows it’s late, because the light is a sickly yellow colour that is reminiscent of street lights in the Midwest instead of the bright light of a spring day, but he doesn’t realise how late it is until he focusses on the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the nightstand.

Then his eyes widen, and he’s half out of bed with an inhale of something akin to fear before Sebastian says in the darkness, his voice sounding stronger but still rather hoarse from the strangulation, “Easy, Hummel. I’m fine.”

Kurt’s heart thuds heavily in his chest and he slumps down immediately, almost surprised by the extent of his panic. It had been light outside when he had last shaken Sebastian awake, he vaguely remembers, but it’s nearly half-past two in the morning now, and Christ, but he hadn’t meant to _sleep_, only nap for a few hours. He wonders if the amount of alarms he’d set hadn’t been enough, or if he’d simply slept through them all, and he groggily reaches for his mobile, the adrenaline fading too quickly to keep his alertness. He still forces himself to sit up, because he honestly thinks he could probably sleep more – sleepless nights, emotional tidal waves, and then intermittent sleep isn’t really conductive to feeling well rested.

“You okay?” Kurt asks, and instantly feels himself blush because that’s a stupid question, really, and Sebastian’s huff of a laugh only enforces it. So Kurt shakes his head in the dark and amends, “Sorry, dumb question. ‘How’re you doing?’ is probably better.”

“No probably about it, Princess,” Sebastian replies, and Kurt’s more relieved about the teasing in his tone than he cares to admit, even despite the _Princess_. Sebastian continues, sounding much more alert than Kurt feels, “I feel like I’ve gotten my ass kicked, which is an explanation in itself, so...” He trails off when Kurt turns on his mobile, the light blinding him before his eyes adjust to the brightness enough where Kurt feels like he can squint his eyes open to see again. He registers that the battery is still at forty-nine percent, and decides to switch his service back on to see what the damage of fifteen hours off the grid is.

He’s distracted from the instantaneous explosion of texts, calls, voicemails, and e-mails when Sebastian snorts, so loud that he immediately cries out in pain.

Kurt doesn’t even think; he simply reacts. His mobile is tossed to the side without fanfare and he’s across the narrow space between their beds in a heartbeat, knees hitting the edge with a flash of pain before he’s kneeling at Sebastian’s bedside. Kurt’s hand darts out towards the lamp, nearly knocking it over before he says “Light” in warning and pushes in the knob. The soft yellow glow is still a bit too bright, even after his eyes had somewhat adjusted to the light of his mobile, but he squints through it, automatically reaching out to grasp Sebastian’s bare shoulder with one hand and card his fingers through Sebastian’s short hair with the other.

“What happened?” Kurt asks in a breathless rush, heart fluttering so fast that he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s pumping air instead of blood, and takes in Sebastian’s tense body and tightly closed eyes.

Sebastian doesn’t answer, his gasps for air hissing through his clenched teeth, and Kurt can see a barely-there sheen of tears beginning to darken his eyelashes. Sebastian’s entire body is shaking, his pulse thrumming visibly in the vein of his freckled neck, a light sheen of perspiration covering his skin, and Kurt isn’t sure if it’s the light that’s making him so pale or if it’s the pain itself, but Kurt feels on the urge of terror just from the sight of him. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, if there’s some internal injury that Kurt hadn’t known about that just opened back up, or if it’s Sebastian’s bones, or if he’s torn stitches, or _what_, but all he can do is push himself up to sit at the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Sebastian’s hair and down the knobs of his spine in what Kurt hopes is comfort.

It seems like hours before Sebastian finally begins to relax, oh so gradually sinking back into the mattress and taking even breaths, the vein in his neck disappearing as the sharp pain goes down. Kurt isn’t dumb, and he knows for certain that it isn’t gone, but it’s clearly more manageable, because Sebastian finally opens his eyes as best he can, the moisture caught in his eyelids free to trail down his ashen face.

Kurt hears a low humming now that the blood isn’t rushing through his ears, and is somewhat aware that _he’s_ the one doing it, but he doesn’t stop, because if there’s one thing that the two of them have in common, it’s that they know what music is capable of, and there’s nothing more comforting than music when a loved one isn’t around to hold onto.

“Sorry,” Sebastian rasps in a whisper that Kurt barely hears. “It’s...it’s just your hair is really stupid right now.”

Kurt’s hands still as he stares wide-eyed at Sebastian, and then torn between horror and utter _amazement_, he says incredulously, “You hurt yourself that bad over my _hair_?”

Sebastian gives Kurt a brittle smile, undoubtedly trying to both mask the pain he still feels as well as keep his face from moving as much as possible, and replies quietly, “Well, it’s pretty stupid. You look like you’ve stuck your finger in an electrical socket.” Kurt just gapes, so Sebastian lets out a soft noise that could be a huff or a groan and adds, “I couldn’t help it. My ribs are killing me and I still want to laugh. Pretty dumb, right?”

“You’re an absolute marvel,” Kurt can’t help but breathe out, distantly aware that it doesn’t have the sarcastic edge to it that he’d hoped for.

Sebastian’s smile widens slight into the crooked half-smile as he practically drawls despite the weakness of his voice, “That’s what all my twenty-minute boyfriends say too.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, registering that he’s started running his fingers through Sebastian’s hair again now that the shock’s ebbed off, though the fingers he’s been gently running up and down the length of Sebastian’s spine have moved without his knowledge to the bare skin of Sebastian’s bicep. Absently, he notices again that it looks like Sebastian’s lost a lot of weight, though he still has the lean musculature that comes from years of sports and dancing, and Kurt is aware that he hasn’t seen Sebastian in almost a year but it’s still pretty clear that there’s something _wrong_ here.

Sebastian’s always been this bigger-than-life personality, taking great pride in his careful persona and the way he looks (even if Kurt doesn’t approve of his fashion sense the spare few times he’s seen it, but that’s beside the point). He had constantly bragged about being sexy, and being the best dancer in the Warblers, and the best lacrosse and football player at Dalton – it had always been this compilation of things that emphasised how gorgeous he was to anyone who would listen. Which, abstractly, Kurt knows, because it’s not exactly a secret that Sebastian _is_ incredibly fit, even when he’s all battered like he is now, and he’s got the persuasive charm that draws people in. It hadn’t worked on Kurt, because he had been (_is?_) in love with Blaine and Sebastian’s flirting had driven Kurt up the wall, but Kurt can understand how it does work on a day-to-day basis. Sebastian Smythe is an attractive, flattering person, and people can’t help but flock around him...well, when he’s not being an arsehole to them to their face.

But there is something _wrong_ here, and it’s not because of this most recent beating. It’s something that Kurt can tell has been affecting Sebastian for a while, just by the state of him. He’s lost too much weight, too much of his prized definition. The skin on his entire body is dry and thin underneath the injuries and recent sweat, like he’s been using a harsh body-and-face wash or isn’t hydrated. His eyes are bruised from the beating, yes, but his eyelids are pale, like he’s anaemic, and his fingernails are brittle and pale too. And there’s just this air around him of something Kurt can’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it’s defeat, or helplessness, or sadness, or depression, Kurt doesn’t know, but it’s just plain _wrong_, and as much as Kurt doesn’t care for Sebastian, he can’t let this go because it seems too heavy for even Kurt to feel, and he’s not even the one experiencing it.

Because he can’t stop himself, Kurt repeats his question from earlier, softly: “Sebastian, are you okay?”

Sebastian gives Kurt a slow blink, the smile fading into nothing but a memory, and his damp eyes flicker down to stare blankly at Kurt’s chest, as if maintaining eye contact is too difficult and he just wants to escape in his own head for a while. Kurt’s hands don’t stop moving, trying to explain with his gestures alone that it’s okay, that he’s not going to use this against Sebastian, as he waits for Sebastian’s response. Kurt understands that he’ll either get nothing or he’ll get a half-hearted snide remark, and Kurt already accepts that he’s not going to get anything out of this boy. He’s not someone that Sebastian feels comfortable talking to, and Kurt really doesn’t blame him. If Kurt was in Sebastian’s position, he probably wouldn’t answer either.

Then Sebastian whispers, “No, I’m really not.”

They’re both quiet for a really long time, long enough where Kurt’s eyes grow heavy and the movements of his hands getting slower until they’re still, Sebastian’s skin warm against Kurt’s palm. He can feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest from where his hand rests on Sebastian’s bicep, and it’s soothing in a way, despite that this is _Sebastian Smythe_. Kurt can’t help but wonder if it’s all a dream, if he’s going to wake up in the spare bedroom in Lima, his father’s tests results still unknown, his hands still tingling from the touch of Blaine’s hands at the Lima Bean.

Sebastian says with a quiet, almost defeated mumble, “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before, and I’ll return the favour. Mutually assured destruction and all that.”

Part of Kurt balks at the idea of giving that secret to Sebastian of all people – because there’s only one secret he’s never told a living soul, and it’s the one thing he genuinely _hates_ about himself – but Kurt feels like this is a dream, some step out of reality where only the two of them exist in a world empty of life, and so Kurt closes his eyes and speaks, for the first time outside of his own head to a person he _never_ expected to share this with.

“When I was growing up, my mum and dad would always let me skip day care, and later on school, when it was my birthday,” Kurt whispers, not daring to raise his voice any higher, like someone other than Sebastian would hear him if he did. “If my birthday was on a weekend, they’d let me skip on Monday instead. It was the best part about my birthday, because Mum and I would stay in our pyjamas all day, baking cookies and watching musicals, singing all the parts together because we could. Mum always took off work months in advance, and if Dad was home too, we’d all do it together, and it was the happiest day of my life, especially when the bullying started when I was in the first grade.

“My birthday in 2001 was on a weekend, so Mum and I had been planning all of these fun things to do, but that weekend, Mum and Dad got into an argument about it. I’d been sick a lot that winter, and he wanted me to go to school because my attendance was low. Mum didn’t want me to, because she knew how hard school was on me, with the bullying and not having any friends, and she had slotted off the time already, so it would be wasted otherwise. My dad was adamant though, and so I had to go to school that Monday. She made me blueberry waffles, my favourite, in apology, but I was _furious_, and wouldn’t stop crying or yelling about my dad even as Mum drove me to school. By the time I was at school, I was calmer I guess, because I had music that first period, but I didn’t even get to finish the full hour because...”

Kurt gasps in a tight breath, his shaky words trailing off because he can’t _say_ this, because that will make it _real_ instead of a horrific thought inside his head, and suddenly Sebastian’s fingers are interlocking with Kurt, a solid pressure that somehow allows Kurt to breathe past the ball of self-hatred lodged in his throat.

His voice is more of a rasp, raw in his throat, when he continues, “My mum had driven to the music store to buy me the keyboard I wanted with the money she’d been saving for Christmas. She bought it and was driving to bring it home to make me...make me _feel_ better about having to go to school, and some _bastard_ ran a red light and _murdered_ her.”

Sebastian’s hand tightens on Kurt’s, a sharp sting, but Kurt can’t stop talking now, even though he can hear the wetness in his voice. “My dad pulled me out of school, and I had to see my mum brain-dead on a machine. I had to watch when they took her off life support. She was just _gone_, and there was nothing we could do to make it okay again.”

Kurt takes a deep breath, choking down the sobs that want to tear themselves out of his throat, and then he breathes, “The thing is, I love my dad. He’s always been there for me, even though he was a bully to gay kids when he was growing up, and has always been a God-fearing Christian, and has never _truly_ understood me. He’s tried so hard to always be there for me, and he’s the best dad in the world. I can’t imagine living a life without him in it, and he’ll always be my best friend. But...but there’s always going to be a small piece of me that will always blame him for what happened, a part of me that hates him for putting Mum in that situation because if he had just let me stay home, she wouldn’t have even gotten out of her pyjamas, let alone driven across town to buy me a keyboard. I know it’s not logical, and I know it’s not something any of us could’ve ever predicted, but it’s just...it _hurts_, and I _hate_ myself for that little piece of me that wonders if he’s done all the things he’s done for me out of pure love or if it’s just an extension of his own guilt, and I _know_ he feels guilty. He’s told me that himself.”

Kurt pauses, his eyes stinging and his self-hatred filling his chest with black tar, and then he finishes, “I hate myself too, because a piece of me hates my dad, but also because if I had just accepted Dad’s decision, not thrown a fit like a spoilt child, maybe she wouldn’t have felt like she needed to get that...that keyboard for an apology that she didn’t even need to give. She’s _dead_ because of the decisions Dad and I made, even though I know it was that driver’s fault, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself or my dad for that.”

Kurt takes ragged breaths for a long time, trying to gather some state of relative calm, and holds Sebastian’s hand tightly even though it’s probably hurting him. Eventually though, he sniffs a bit and lets out a self-deprecating laugh, full of bitterness and an old despair, and says honestly, “I’ve never even said that out loud before, like it would be true if I did. And it would kill my dad if he heard that I think that – he’s such a good man, Sebastian, and he doesn’t deserve this. I can live with my own guilt, because I’ve _always_ hated myself for it, but _God_, he doesn’t deserve it. He _doesn’t_. He’s the best man I’ve ever known, and just made a decision that, in hindsight, was the right one.” Kurt sniffs again, trying to breathe past the knot in his throat, and laughs roughly once more, moving the hand that’s still in Sebastian’s hair to his face so he can wipe away the stray tears that managed to trickle down his cheeks with a heavy hand. He loosens the grip on Sebastian’s hand but doesn’t let go, needing the contact of another human being – even Sebastian – so he doesn’t just break down like he really wants to.

Then Sebastian says with honesty in his hoarse tone, “I’m sorry.” Kurt snorts, but doesn’t get the opportunity to reply, because Sebastian continues, “Mine is a long story, and it’s about as cheery as yours was.”

Kurt exhales noisily and then pulls away so he can get to his feet. “Okay,” he replies, rubbing his face tiredly and moving towards the desk. He moves his folded clothes to the desk and then sifts through one of the CVS bags, getting the two bottles of water (because he trusts the taps in Ohio about as much as he trusts the ones in New York), the ibuprofen, and a few Clif bars in various flavours. Kurt’s not at all hungry, and if Sebastian’s secret is just as bad (if not worse) than Kurt’s, then he doesn’t figure that Sebastian will be up for food either. Still, it’s better for both of them to eat, and they _both_ need ibuprofen, because Kurt’s head is pounding from tiredness and the battering of his emotions these past few days, and Sebastian’s, well, all sorts of messed up, at least physically.

Predictably, Sebastian says, “I’m not hungry,” but Kurt ignores him, placing his goods on the chair at the desk and rolling it to Sebastian’s bedside.

As he moves everything to the end table and opens the ibuprofen, Kurt says, “I don’t care. You need to eat to take medication, even ibuprofen, and you’ll heal faster with food in your stomach anyway. Besides, when we go fill your prescription in a few hours, you’ll definitely need food in your stomach then. So pick one, choke it down, and take some ibuprofen, because I know you’re in pain.”

Sebastian says blankly, “I’m not filling the script, and I’m not taking the ibuprofen, but I’ll eat if it’ll get you to shut up.”

“Sebastian...” Kurt starts, but Sebastian interrupts in a rough tone, “No, I’m serious, just stop. Don’t goad or guilt me into popping pills, Jesus.”

And that’s when Kurt understands. It’s about _drugs_. Sebastian’s an addict, or at least a recovering one considering his non-nonsense refusal, and oh my God, Kurt doesn’t even know how to—

“Stop thinking for a minute,” Sebastian says, his rough voice softer this time. “I’m clean now, so you can kind of understand why I won’t take them and hopefully that’ll keep you from harassing me about it. Besides, it’s bit more complicated than ‘oh hey, I’m a junkie’ anyway. So give me the mint chocolate one and shut up for a second so I can think.”

Kurt wordlessly hands over the object in question and chooses the blueberry one for himself. They both eat in silence, Kurt quickly eating his mechanically and Sebastian clearly trying to force himself to eat it, pinching off little pieces and chewing them for a long time with an expression that makes Kurt wonder if Sebastian’s going to be sick. He grabs the tiny bin from the crevice of the end table and sets it beside his chair, ready just in case, but Sebastian doesn’t motion for it.

It takes Sebastian nearly thirty minutes to eat the thing, and then he’s shifting, clearly trying to move and take off the sling at the same time. Kurt reaches out to help him and Sebastian doesn’t complain, just letting out a long groan of discomfort as Kurt helps him lay down in the middle of the bed. Kurt piles soft pillows behind his upper back and neck so he’s almost sitting upright, and the arm that had been in the sling is pulled in closely to his body. Kurt hands him the water and Sebastian gingerly lifts the other arm, the unhurt one, drinking half the bottle almost greedily before stopping.

Then he licks his lips and, in a much stronger voice than Kurt had expected, says, “Don’t interrupt. You’ll want to, because I’m not stupid and you’re _you_—” Kurt can’t help but bristle a bit, but forces his face to stay impassive and takes a deep breath to calm himself. “—but don’t, okay? Because like you, I’ve never actually said this out loud either, and I’m...” He pauses, stretches out his fingers with a soft crack, and continues, “I’m afraid that if I stop, I won’t be able to finish, and I think I need to say this out loud. So just don’t talk, okay. I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

Kurt nods once, and Sebastian seems to see something in his face because he sighs, averts his eyes to the hands in his lap, and starts, “Like I said, it’s a long story, and doesn’t really make sense unless I start from the beginning. So...well, my maman and father divorced when I was three, so I don’t really remember it. All I do know about it is that Father took a sabbatical after high school in France, met Maman, and got pregnant with my sister Charlotte. Luckily for them, they were both in love with each other, and Maman came from a golden family, so my grandparents were more than alright with them getting married instead of Maman getting an abortion. Anyway, Maman came to the States with Father, had Charlotte, and three years later I came along. By this point, they were already having issues, mostly because my maman was in a foreign country and had no idea how to function outside my father’s influence, and he was in university for pre-law, so it wasn’t like he could really hold her hand, y’know? They didn’t love each other by then though, so Maman started having affairs because that’s the kind of woman she is; she’s a good person, but she needs to be in a relationship to really be happy, and she wasn’t getting that from Father, so she tried finding it elsewhere. When I was three, they got divorced. It was two years of court for custody, but Maman got it simply because she has a vagina, and the second it was finalised in her favour, she skirted Charlotte and me to Paris.

“Father was devastated, but he couldn’t follow because he was neck deep in law school, and so we essentially just disappeared from his life except for a month during the summers, which was the custody arrangement. Charlotte and I both loved it, being in Paris, _obviously_, because it was like a fairy tale. She was around all the time, and always had men on her arm that spoilt us, but the relationships never lasted longer than a week or two. Maman’s difficult to a lot of people, because she’s pretty dependent and, let’s be honest here, clingy as fuck, and men just couldn’t deal with her, especially since she had two kids barely out of nappies, y’know?”

Kurt smiles at the image, and at the European words that he knows from books and television, but obligingly doesn’t interrupt. Sebastian’s lip crooks up, a small smile that fades as fast as it appears, and then he says quietly, “And then she met Nicolas.” He sighs, pauses for a second, and then admits, “He was perfect. He could handle Maman with this unending well of patience, and he was so good to the three of us. He came from money like Father, so there were all these weekend trips to the countryside, and all across Europe and the Middle East, and Christ, Kurt, it was brilliant. I’ve never seen my maman like that, so fucking alive. And he was perfect for us, the only dad that I’d really known since we’d left Father when I was so young. Father was just this guy I visited for a month out of the year, a virtual stranger that was still in law school at first and then always working after he passed his bar, so Nicolas was really the only father figure I really had.”

Sebastian’s hands are fidgeting in his lap now, his long fingers twisting in his lap, and Kurt absently reaches out to still them, wrapping the cold digits in his own warm ones. Sebastian seems surprised as he watches their hands tangle together, but then he goes on, his voice more guarded, “Charlotte started acting out though, after a few months of him in our lives. She was nine, so Maman was convinced that it was just a puberty thing, but I was concerned. We always...tried to include her in things, but she always clammed up, or started crying, or yelling when she was mad. She was like this for two years, except it got worse, and I started to resent her, because she wanted to move with me to Ohio and live with Father, this stranger who was never even home when we visited, and I couldn’t understand why she hated Maman and Nicolas so much, why she was so adamant about the two of us leaving when I was so happy.

“She stopped eating, something else we have in common I guess – I’ve had an eating disorder since I was ten, same age as Charlotte almost, but that comes later.” Sebastian seems so blasé about that that Kurt can’t help but cringe, because that explains the weight loss, and Christ, but Kurt knows how bad EDs can get (and he can’t imagine what it was like while Sebastian was also on drugs, because that’s a deadly combination). He’s seen Cheerios and classmates from McKinley and NYADA suffer from it, and it’s a horrible thing to watch. However, Kurt clenches his teeth to keep from speaking, and simply rubs his thumb across Sebastian’s knuckles without any hesitation as Sebastian continues, “Anyway, she just got worse and worse, with food and with Nicolas and Maman, until Maman just couldn’t take it anymore. She signed Charlotte up for a boarding school outside of Marseille, and that’s when Charlotte freaked out. And I mean _freaked out_. She was hysterical for weeks, saying that she’d play nice, that she’d participate and be a loving daughter and all that shit, but Maman was done, and considering the reaction, she figured that it was the best course of action to punish her for her attitude.

“The last night she was with us, she came into my room, and all she would say was ‘I’m sorry’, over and over again, like a mantra or something. I still hated her, because she was horrible to Maman and Nicolas, but I didn’t want another fight, so I just let her do it until I fell asleep, and by the time I woke up, she was gone.”

Sebastian’s eyes close then, and he whispers, “For two weeks it was amazing. Maman was sad, but she was already working as a fashion photographer by then, so she had time with her clients to just destress. Nicolas was a socialite, so he didn’t work though he’d travel around Europe a lot for weeks at a time, and when he was home we watched films and had wine – it’s a French thing, allowing a bit of wine with dinner, and so no one blinked an eye, not even my _grands-parents_. And while this is going on, I’m freaking out about being queer, because I knew when I was six that I liked boys, and I was terrified about how my family would react. I mean, it was France, and that entire country is liberal as fuck, but still, I’d heard stories on the news, especially in the States, about queers, and I was just a kid. So about two weeks after Charlotte left, I went to Nicolas after school and sat him down, and told him that I liked boys, and did he still love me?

“He looked at me like he was surprised, said that he didn’t care and that Maman wouldn’t either, but he wanted to know how I knew. And I was nine-years-old, so I couldn’t really articulate that I dreamt about kissing boys, and holding hands with boys, and marrying boys, not girls. So he just kind of cocked his head at me, and said that I needed to make sure before I decided what I really wanted.”

Kurt can feel that ball of dread start creeping up his throat, his heart pounding, and he _knows_ where this is going, but it still hits him like a physical blow when Sebastian says in the quietest voice Kurt’s ever heard, “He offered, and he was the male figure in my life that I loved more than literally everyone else I’d ever known, even my maman, and _God_ Kurt, even at nine I knew he was gorgeous. So obviously I said okay, and he kissed me, though it wasn’t anything...it wasn’t like we were making out or something. He just kissed me, and it felt amazing, and I loved it, I really, really did. When he stopped – and fuck I didn’t want him to; I wanted him to do it forever – he just took another sip of his wine and told me that I needed to try it with a girl now, and then I’d really know.”

Sebastian sighs again, fingers clenching briefly before relaxing, and then he opens his eyes and turns his head towards Kurt, though he’s looking everywhere except in Kurt’s eyes. He looks confused, because Kurt’s crying now, in that silent way he has, and Kurt can’t help it because this is so _horrible_, worse than drugs and eating disorders and almost everything else he can imagine, and Kurt knows that it’s all connected, which means that Sebastian had dealt with everything at once. Sebastian opens his mouth, but Kurt shakes his head quickly, and Sebastian just nods and continues, his eyes falling to somewhere over Kurt’s left shoulder in a vague stare, lost in memories.

“My best friend was a girl a year above me. I adored Angelique, and if there was ever a girl that I was going to kiss back then, it was her. She was game, and it was nice because kissing is awesome at any age, but it wasn’t the same. I knew without a doubt that I was queer then, so I rushed home and told Nicolas that I’d done it. He just laughed, and said that we needed to celebrate, that I was a man now. Jesus, you don’t know what that’s like, at that age, being told by this gorgeous man you love that you’re a man, and I was over the goddamn moon, like some cheesy heroine in a romance novel. I had wine and danced around the room and he just laughed, and yeah, I got drunk for the first time, and he took advantage of that—”

Kurt makes a small sound in the back of his throat, but Sebastian’s already shaking his head stiffly, saying, “No, nothing like that. I mean, we made out, but it didn’t go any further than that. He wanted to, because he was hard against my legs, though I didn’t realise what that meant at the time, but he stopped it before clothes started coming off. Made me drink some water, got some food into me, and explained to me that it had to be a secret, because people wouldn’t think I was a man yet, not like _he_ did, and until I was a bit older, it had to stay secret. I totally was on board with that, drunk on wine and on cloud nine after making out for half an hour or so, and life went on. Whenever we were alone together we’d always make out, though not always with wine, and then it escalated, as everything always does.”

Sebastian swallows, sniffs a bit, and then murmurs hoarsely, “I was nine the first time I had a handjob, and nine when I received my first blowjob. And I was nine when I learnt how to give them both too.” Kurt just shakes and grits his teeth so hard to keep himself from screaming, tears uncontrollable now because _fuck_, Sebastian had been a _child_, as Sebastian breathes out, “The only thing we didn’t do was full-on sex. I didn’t really know what that was outside of an abstract idea, because I lived in Paris and people talk, plus sex was always on the T.V., so all I really knew was that it was something adults did when they loved each other more than anything else, and that it led to kids. That was about the extent of it. This was before the internet really kicked off, so I didn’t even think that boys could even do something like that.”

Sebastian scoffs to himself, immediately letting out a small groan of pain, before he shifts slightly with a grimace, and Kurt can’t help but squeeze his hands before letting go, reaching out for Sebastian’s water bottle and snapping up the cap. Sebastian drinks some, clearing his throat a bit when he’s done, and Kurt is surprised when he just lays it to the side and grips Kurt’s hands again, interlocking their fingers just like before. He says in a slightly smoother voice, his throat less dry from talking, “This went on for a year and a half. Charlotte had come back from boarding school once, more bones than anything, and asked me vague questions, like if I was okay. But I _was_ okay, because I’d been, well...groomed for it since he met me at five-years-old, and I was _so_ in love with him Kurt, so I was honest and told her I’d never been happier. I was pissed when we had to go to the States for Father’s month, and _boy_ did I hate my sister because she never left me or Nicolas alone, so it was two months of forced celibacy.”

Despite Sebastian’s words, Kurt feels a bone-deep appreciation for Charlotte Smythe, for getting in the way of Nicolas’s exploitation of a child. Even though he knows that Charlotte left again for school, and though he figures that Charlotte had gone through the same thing as Sebastian had, she had at least stopped it for two months. Two measly months, but it was something, and Kurt loves her for it. He wants to meet her, to shake her hand for what she did, and probably continued to do until Sebastian came to Dalton when he was a Junior. She’s three years older than Sebastian, so she’s probably finishing up university or something, but he vows to meet her, if only to say thank you on Sebastian’s behalf.

“Anyway, a month or so before Charlotte was set to come home again, right after Maman’s birthday, we were fooling around in my bedroom and he suddenly stopped and just looked at me for a while before he told me that...that I was old enough.” Kurt feels it coming, and he tears one of his hands out of Sebastian’s grip so he can cover his mouth to muffle the _inhuman_ sound that rips out of his throat. Sebastian doesn’t even pause though, closing his eyes and saying in a dead voice, “We’d always been really communicative about everything we did, and he always told me that if I didn’t like something, or if something hurt, I was supposed to tell him to stop. And the few times that it did happen, he always stopped, so I trusted him implicitly when he explained that there’d be some pain, but that it would be okay. He really emphasised that having sex was what people did who loved each other, that it was ultimate expression of love, and c’mon, I’m French and watched the damn television, so I knew that. The problem was, it _wasn’t_ okay, and he _didn’t_ stop, and when I was showering after, watching the come and the blood wash down the drain and in so much pain I couldn’t even stand up, the only thing that I could do was smile. Because why would anyone suffer through that if not for love, right? I twisted it in my head that I was happy about it, even though I couldn’t walk straight for two solid weeks and cringed away from people for even longer.”

Kurt is outright sobbing now, though quietly, and his heart is shattering, but Sebastian keeps talking (even though every part of Kurt just wants him to stop, to _stop_) in that same lifeless tone, “And it went like that for three years. I isolated myself, and stopped eating, but there was always Nicolas, the only person I trusted and loved. I despised Maman, because she was always first in his life when she was home, and I despised Charlotte and Father for taking me away from him for two months, but I always felt guilty because having Maman and Charlotte home or being in Ohio meant that my body could just have a break from it all. I was so young, and he never prepped me well enough, and it always hurt, but when he’d hold me after and tell me that I was perfect for him, I told myself that it was worth it, that it was love, that he _loved_ me.”

Sebastian sighs once more, though Kurt can barely hear it over his own ragged breaths, and says, “When I was thirteen, almost fourteen, right when my voice was breaking, I came home from school and his bags were packed. I panicked, tried to make him stay, but he just fucked me one last time and got up immediately after, and I’ll never forget this, but he looked me in the eyes and said, ‘You’re too old now. My apologies, _mon petite chérie_, but this is goodbye.’ He was gone fifteen minutes later.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and Sebastian laughs, a hard sound that makes him shudder in pain and Kurt to reach out with the hand covering his mouth to run shaking fingers down his bare arm. Then, his voice tight, Sebastian manages, “I self-destructed. Maman was devastated, didn’t leave her bed for ages, because he had been in our lives for eight years. So she wasn’t any help. Charlotte was gone until mid-June, so that was bust, and I just fucking lost it. Got some hash from some kids at school, fell in love with everything just melting away and not having to feel anymore, which led to pills, which led to poppers, which ultimately led to heroin, and suddenly nothing really mattered, not when I didn’t go home for days at a time and Maman didn’t even notice, or I lost interest in dancing and football, or when I was so fucked up that I didn’t even care when guys started fucking me when I was high, though thankfully almost everyone used condoms, since everyone was still spooked from AIDS, especially with drugs involved.

“Anyway, it took Charlotte almost a month after her school let out to find me. She took me home, waited until I woke up a few hours later, and then talked to me. Told me everything that had happened to her and tried to get me to understand that Nicolas had never loved me, that he was just a predator, and I don’t know, I guess I kind of knew that in the back of my head, after what he said to me when he left, and knowing that Charlotte had dealt with it too was a kick to the kneecaps. But at the same time, I couldn’t believe it, because I had been fucking programmed into it for so long, and I freaked, like I do sometimes, and it didn’t help that I was already withdrawing. So I bolted again, and then took a cocktail that would knock Lucifer on his ass.”

Sebastian’s voice is shaking so hard that Kurt stands up and, taking care to not hurt him, lays down on the bed. Sebastian’s side, from his feet to his left shoulder, is pressed up against Kurt’s body, and Kurt just holds him as tightly as he dares, feeling the shudders wracking Sebastian’s body. Sebastian’s gasping, clearly in pain emotionally and physically, and he chokes out, “It’s a miracle I’m alive. I broke my leg when I had the seizure and fell down the stairs of the flat I was in, and on top of that I was in a coma for almost a week. When I woke up, I found out that Charlotte had killed herself. Maman didn’t even know for two days because she was with me in hospital.”

“_Oh God_,” Kurt hears himself whisper against the sharp jut of Sebastian’s shoulder, even though he knows he’s not supposed to talk, but Sebastian doesn’t even hear him, completely lost. “I couldn’t go to the funeral, because I couldn’t even get out of bed for weeks, and I still haven’t cried to this day like a normal person would when their sister dies, but I’ll tell you what, it didn’t matter that I had detoxed, because the second I was out of hospital, I was back shooting up and getting fucked without consent and there was nothing that Maman could even do about it. She put in missing person’s reports, had everyone out looking for me, and my _grands-parents_ and Father put out a hefty reward, but I stayed low and made sure that they never found me.

“I stayed out there for over a year, and one day, when I was unfortunately sober, I guess I finally just accepted that Nicolas had raped me and my sister for years and that it was all just one big fucking lie, and I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to die, wanted to be with my sister and stop living like I was, and so I went to this guy who always had the best shit and would just pass me around to his friends like a party trick instead of asking for dosh, because if I was going to go out, I was going to do it like a fucking champion and with the best shit I could get. But Pierre saw something in me, like he knew what I was planning to do, and he disappeared into a back room for a minute and came out with this powder, said it’d be the best goddamn thing I’d ever experienced. I snorted it, and was out like a light a few minutes later, in the middle of asking for more. Turns out he had crushed up a sedative, and he dragged my dead-weight ass across Paris and tossed me at my maman. Wouldn’t even take the reward money.” Sebastian laughs again, a horrible sound, and admits, “I still don’t know if I hate the prick for taking that closure away from me or if I love him for it. Depends on the day, I guess.”

Sebastian relaxes marginally, and he takes a long moment to slow down his breathing. Kurt just holds on, his cheek resting on the pillow that’s soggy with his tears, but despite wanting to speak, he keeps his mouth closed. Kurt wants to comfort Sebastian – as much as someone like Kurt can comfort a person like Sebastian, who’s obviously been holding onto this for a long time – but he _can’t_ talk because Kurt thinks that if he opens his mouth, he’ll either start screaming with no chance of stopping or he’ll sick up all over the place. He’s thankful that he’s at least stopped crying for the time being, though his breathing is still choppy and his eyes still sting.

“Anyway, Maman let Father and his wife Nina take me to the States, me kicking and screaming until I started detoxing and couldn’t even manage that. They checked me into rehab the next day, and I was in there for six months, getting clean and catching up on the year of school I missed. Never told anyone about what Nicolas had done...to this day the shrinks probably think I just rebelled against losing my sister and my so-called father figure back-to-back. Pretty funny, huh? Don’t answer that. Look, I got clean, got mentally stable, and when I got out, I craved it – hell, I still _do_ – but I didn’t start using again. I just wanted to live my life for my sister, because she wasn’t going to have that opportunity, and I know that she would’ve murdered me with hellfire if I killed myself, though she’d be a fucking hypocrite to say so. I just wanted to forget, and just do all these things with my life, because I’m stronger than what I was when I was a kid or a junkie. I know I am.

“It took me a few weeks to sneak out after getting released, but I wanted to know if...this is going to sound crazy, but whatever. I know the stigma that victims have, that we either can’t handle intimacy or sex for a long time if ever, or we turn into sex-crazed maniacs to try and gain some sort of control. But it wasn’t like that for me, never has been, no matter what anyone thinks. I snuck out, went to a club, avoided the drugs that were circulating, and then I met a guy who seemed really nice. He wasn’t drunk or stoned, but he wasn’t looking for a relationship, and me? I just...I really just wanted to _know_, once and for all, if it really was true that sex was always painful, if it was something that could only be done when you loved someone.”

Kurt looks up at him, Sebastian’s face blurry from the residual moisture in his eyes, and Sebastian’s wearing that soft, crooked smile with a gentle fondness clear on his battered face. “It was the greatest damn night of my life, I swear to God. He let me fuck him, first time I’d ever done it, and he taught me how men were supposed to be prepped, and after four years of never once getting hard during penetrative sex, with Nicolas or any of the men that fucked me when I was high, I watched a boy come so hard that he practically shot into space and I followed him out. It was _amazing_, and so fucking _comforting_, Kurt, the idea that I could be with a person and it didn’t have to involve pain, and I can’t get enough of that feeling. It’s why I sleep around, why I always ask a dozen times if my partner is okay, and stop when something hurts – it’s so comforting to know that sex can be fun, or meaningless, or meaning_ful_, that it’s the people and consent that makes it feel good, that there’s not something fundamentally _broken_ inside of me. It’s not about control at all; it’s about connecting to another person in the most intimate way and knowing that it’s mutually consensual, and not painful, and that everyone is genuinely happy to be a part of it, and that one _creep_ didn’t take that away from me. It’s so goddamn beautiful that it takes my breath away.”

The smile turns a bit wistful, and Sebastian finally, _finally_ looks directly at Kurt for the first time since starting. “I haven’t let anyone fuck me though. I’m kind of scared of it, to be perfectly honest. I’ve never trusted anyone enough, and besides, what if it still hurts anyway? I mean, I know now that I was too young and wasn’t prepped right for those four years, but I don’t know what I would do if it hurt regardless, because does that mean that no matter what Nicolas did, it was always going to be painful? Would that mean that maybe he _did_ try to be gentle, that maybe he _did_ love me in his own way, and that I’m just damaged in some way that never would’ve allowed me to enjoy it no matter how hard he tried? And if it isn’t painful, then the little piece of me that still...that still _loves_ that sonofabitch will finally have to accept the fact that it was never reciprocated even a little bit, that he had _wanted_ to hurt me, and that scares me more than anything because I know that I’m not weak but I also don’t think I’m strong enough to deal with that right now, or maybe ever.”

Sebastian exhales slowly, his expression fading into something twisted, and he averts his eyes once again. “But moving on, I was perfectly fine just trying to forget about that part of my life, making sure that no one ever knew, especially my parents, but I have shitty luck and the universe is out to get me so it got out. It’s fucking ridiculous how it happened too. So to kind of condense it all, Nicolas took up with this new family, and the girl that he targeted was older than I had been, maybe because he wanted to get right to fucking, I dunno. The girl, Sophia, went ballistic, told _everyone_, and Nicolas was arrested in October for a whole bus-load of charges. They started an investigation, found out that he had started with his siblings and then started dating women with kids to keep on doing it. Apparently he had all of these girlfriends with kids, at the same time, so he was doing this to families even whenever he was dating Maman and fucking me and Charlotte. Like, who even does that? Lives multiple lives in multiple countries just to have sex with multiple kids? It’s fucking _awful_.

“Anyway, it wasn’t a secret that he’d dated Maman, since they’re both high-profile, so they questioned her about his relationship with Charlotte and me, and it just clicked in her head. Suddenly _everyone_ knew, because she was hysterical and called probably every single person even distantly related to us. Hell, she probably called the Emperor of fucking _Japan_. Father himself came into my room one night when I was home from Dalton for the weekend and sat me down. It was pretty ingenious how he did it, really, because he knows me pretty well now, knows how good I am at deflecting shit and hiding what I think or feel if I have an idea of what’s coming. But he came in with that expression that fathers just instinctively know how to do through osmosis or something, that one where you know you’re in trouble or something’s wrong, and he told me that we needed to talk. First thing out of my mouth was ‘I’m not using again’, and he told me that he knew I wasn’t, because he’d been stealing hairs off my pillow for months for drug tests – which I’m still kind of pissed off about, even though I know that’s a valid thing to do with a junkie.” Sebastian huffs out an irritated breath, and says, “But anyway, he asked, point-fucking-blank, “Did Nicolas rape you?’”

Sebastian shakes his head stiffly, and shifts gingerly until he’s almost on his side, and suddenly the two of them are face-to-face, breathing each other’s air. Sebastian’s green eyes, one eye almost completely shut from the swelling but both of his eyes clear, take in Kurt’s face, like he’s memorising the angles and curves of Kurt’s features. It’s strangely intimate, and Kurt wonders what Sebastian sees. Well, other than the puffy eyes and blotchy skin of course. He wonders what Sebastian’s looking for.

He’s glad he’s not still crying at least. Kurt’s always been an ugly crier, and there’s no need to show that to Sebastian up close and personal.

Eventually, his words dancing across Kurt’s sensitive face with mint-chocolate breath, he says, “Of all the things in the world, that was not a phrase I ever expected to hear come out of my father’s mouth, and since I wasn’t expecting it, I couldn’t help but react to it. I’ve never verbally confirmed it to anyone’s face, still haven’t to this day except for you I guess, but a reaction like I had is worth a thousand words. I nearly used again that night, but I didn’t. Bought it, set it up and everything, but I couldn’t do it. Ended up throwing it against a wall and walking around Columbus for almost two days. Didn’t come home until Sunday evening, and the entire armada was there: Father, Nina, Maman, every grandparent I have, a contingent of lawyers and police officers, some FBI and Interpol agents since it was an international case of extortion and bribery and rape of minors, because some of the mothers found out what he was doing and he paid or threatened them to keep quiet. They asked me a lot of questions, and I didn’t say a word, though I did nod a lot I guess. I was kinda afraid that they’d cart me off to jail if I _didn’t_ acknowledge anything, and I dunno about you, but I’m ready to get the fuck to New York and get on with my life, y’know? I’m literally sick of this stupid state.”

Kurt gives him a shaky smile, because _that_ he understands.

Sebastian smiles back just as weakly with the corner of his mouth, and says, “Well, to tie it all up in a nice, shiny bow of shit, my father’s a fucking advocate of justice and all that stupid crap, plus he has the added bonus of being a lawyer himself, so he’s forcing me to testify on the stand, staring Nicolas Juppé right in the face, since the trial is literally three miserable weeks before my eighteenth birthday.”

Kurt’s eyes widen with horror, because _why_ would _anyone_ want to force their child to go over all that again, looking at their rapist in the eyes while they’re doing it, and Sebastian huffs a weak laugh. “No shit, right? You’re literally the only person who’s had a sane reaction. Father’s all for it, obviously, and everyone else in my family is too because Charlotte’s dead and I’ve nearly died myself. They want justice, and I _know_ that’s fair, that everyone needs to see Nicolas go to prison, even me, but it’s just emotional torture that’s not even necessary and they don’t _get_ that. Especially since there are _forty-seven_ of us, Kurt, not including the parents, and twenty-two of us are practically chomping at the bit to get him slaughtered in court, like the ten-year-old kid that squealed first and has a positive rape kit to really hammer it home. It’s not like they _need_ me to testify. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to get off with forty-seven victims and a metaphorical cruise liner full of pissed and devastated parents screaming for justice, even with all the money and influence in the world.

“But me? I just want to move on with my life, wipe the slate clean and just forget that it happened, though I know that’s kinda impossible. But _no_, I have to fly to France and do this because if I bail, they’ll completely cut me off, which means no university in _any_ state and no money for a place. I didn’t apply for any scholarships, because why would I? My father makes more than enough to send me to Columbia and med school without even bringing his inheritance into it so why would I take scholarship opportunities from other people that actually need it? It’s just practical, and I didn’t think I was going to be dealing with fucking _extortion_. And it’s even worse because it’s not like I have any semblance of a support system – my entire family is smothering me, like, _you-can’t-even-go-to-the-bathroom-by-yourself-because-we’re-afraid-you’re-going-to-slit-your-wrists-like-your-sister_ smothering, and everyone just _cries_ all the time or asks me how I’m _feeling_, and you don’t get privacy at Dalton, and I might have a lot of friends but I don’t have any _friends_, y’know? So I’m just freaking out because I don’t know what to do and I’m terrified that I’m going to get on the stand and that little piece of me that still loves Nicolas is going to make me clam up or make excuses or say it was consensual or say it never happened and I can’t fucking _do_ this, Kurt, I _can’t_—”

Kurt surges up, because Sebastian’s going hysterical, and he just holds him as tightly as he dares. Sebastian buries his face into Kurt’s chest, gasping for breath while letting out small whimpers of pain from the violent shudders that wrack his body, and Kurt just buries his own nose into Sebastian’s hair. He’s crying again but he silences them with the brutal efficiency of decades-long practise, because no matter how emotional he feels, Sebastian so obviously needs someone to be strong for him right now (though Kurt knows that Sebastian will be able to feel Kurt’s tears in his short hair and against his scalp).

But he can’t help it. This boy – this boy he hated in high school, Sebastian _fucking_ Smythe – is so _broken_, and there’s nothing that Kurt can do to take the pain away. God, but he would do anything to do so, yet there’s nothing he can do except just hold Sebastian and dig his fingers in his short hair, trying to give the only form of comfort that he possibly can. It’s devastating that he can’t do more than that, but it’s something, and even through his own tears he hears himself hum again, something unidentifiable but hopefully soothing.

After what feels like hours, Sebastian’s harsh tremors ease, and he slowly pulls away. Something in Kurt’s psyche is loath to let him go, but after a moment’s hesitation, Kurt allows him to move away. He immediately buries his face in his hands, trying to hide the silent, ugly sobs from Sabastian as much as he can, but he still feels Sebastian against him, the long line of Sebastian’s body pressed against Kurt’s front.

For a while, nothing but Kurt’s echoing gasps break the silence, and Kurt _so_ wants to stop sobbing but he _can’t_, and he hates it, because Sebastian doesn’t need Kurt falling apart. Kurt should be comforting _Sebastian_, but he’s simply incapable of doing anything but weep into his hands, not able to pull himself together. And God, Sebastian had _said_ that all his family was doing was crying, and here Kurt is, doing the exact same _damn_ thing that Sebastian gets enough of at home.

Then: “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

It’s such a surprising thing to hear that Kurt chokes on a shaky sob and peeks at Sebastian from between his fingers. It doesn’t stop the crying, and Kurt refuses to pull his hands away, but he manages to force out somewhat coherently, “What?”

Sebastian’s dry eyes are taking in what he can see of Kurt’s face, his expression the same look of absent confusion from before, as he replies in his hoarse voice, “Everyone cries. It’s like an involuntary response, and everyone does it because it’s normal. Even the freakin’ _lawyers_ got misty eyed. But I can’t. I know I’m supposed to, but I can’t. I’ve never been able to. Clearly there’s something wrong with me.”

Kurt can’t help but let out a weak, wet laugh, and he rubs his face hard. “You’ll do it eventually,” Kurt says, because he knows it’s true. Everyone breaks down eventually, and it’s only a matter of time before Sebastian lets go of every turbulent thing he’s feeling. He continues, “It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even after that _monster_ gets sentenced, but it’ll happen. It always does.” And, because he can’t help but try to put them back on somewhat of a normal ground, he half-heartedly jokes, “Or you really are the gay antichrist like I’ve always suspected, and will go hell with a poker face.”

To Kurt’s pleasure, Sebastian actually laughs, though with painful groans in between when it jostles his injuries yet again. Kurt is almost sorry for it, but he’s too satisfied that Sebastian is laughing after that nightmare of a story he’s just told Kurt, so Kurt simply joins in.

When their mirth subsides, Sebastian lets out a sigh that seems to come from the tips of his toes as he relaxes into the mattress, his even breaths comforting against Kurt’s front. “Well, I suppose. In any case, you should stop now. I won’t be able to sleep anymore if this bed turns into a lake.”

Kurt laughs again, rubs his face to get rid of the lingering wetness and then at his eyes to try and quell the stinging. Then he pulls his hands away, somewhat reluctantly because he knows he looks like a mess right now, and simply gets his own breathing under control. It takes forever, and Kurt looks directly at Sebastian because he can’t stomach the idea of Sebastian thinking that Kurt can’t even look him in the eyes anymore. More than anything, Kurt wants to convey that he isn’t going to look at Sebastian like a leper, or treat him like glass like he apparently hates, because none of this is Sebastian’s fault. He had been exploited and assaulted repeatedly by a monster only to be hooked on drugs and exploited by more monsters, all before he was sixteen-years-old, but none of that is Sebastian’s fault.

It’s Nicolas’s, and Kurt _prays_ that that _abomination_ of a human being rots in the lowest pit of hell for everything he’s done, not only to Sebastian and Charlotte, but all of the other victims of his sick perversion as well.

Since apparently Kurt’s allowed to talk now (he hopes), Kurt huffs out a breath and finally says what’s on his mind, starting with the more pressing. “Firstly, your parents are assholes.” Sebastian’s eyes widen and his jaw drops as much as each can with their respective injuries, but Kurt doesn’t allow him to interject, because he _needs_ to get this out. “Your dad’s a lawyer, for chrissakes – he should know what this type of trial does to people, and besides, it’s not like it’s unheard of for people to give video confessions instead of physically having to testify on the stand. You’d have to tell it all to a camera, but it’s a thousand times better than the alternative. I mean _Jesus_, who in the world would even _think_ that it’s a good idea to force you to testify in that setting? You may not be eighteen yet but you’re a goddamn adult anyway, and you’ve clearly gone through more than most people will go through in their entire lifetimes, so they should respect your decision. Obviously, you have to give _some_ sort of testimony, and yeah, I know it’s coming from a good place on their part, but still, they need to lay off and let you make your own choices.”

Kurt’s actually really angry right now, and despite his usual aversion to swearing, he continues heatedly, “Secondly, _fuck_ that bastard. I normally don’t condone violence but I want to fly to France and beat the living hell out of him anyway. It shouldn’t be hard if he’s handcuffed, and to be honest who would even stop me? Hell, we can have a party of it...line up everyone who wants to take a whack at him and then when we’re done, cut off his _dick_ and _feed_ it to him before throwing him in a windowless box so he can rot.”

Then Kurt, though he’s still puffed up with fury, deflates a tiny bit and glares at the still-gaping Sebastian, saying resolutely, “And lastly, you can wax all that poetic bullshit about a lack of a support system all you want, but if you honestly think that you can tell a bleeding heart like me a story like that and then expect me to skip off into the sunset without thinking twice, you’re _out of your mind_. I know we’ve never liked each other, but guess what, asshole, you’re _stuck_ with me now, so you better get used to my gay face poking at you with a stick every _goddamn_ day for the rest of your natural life because _I’m_ your support system now, Sebastian Smythe, at least until you find someone less offensive to your delicate sensibilities to take my place. So just accept your fate and _deal with it_.”

Okay, so maybe that was a little heavy-handed and emphatic, because Sebastian kind of looks like Kurt just hit him upside the head with a sledgehammer, but Kurt absolutely does not give a damn. He’s utterly serious about this, because while the two of them have been at each other’s throats for ages, Kurt’s not going to let Sebastian deal with all of this himself. If Sebastian is to be trusted, Kurt’s literally the only person he’s ever told, and that in and of itself means that Kurt’s probably the only one who can really be there for him in this. Sure, they’ll fight like cats and dogs, but Kurt knows that Sebastian doesn’t want to be treated like he’s a fragile China doll, and it’s not like it’s a secret that the two of them are incredibly adept at using sharp tongues. Despite their stormy history, they’ve both been able to stand up to each other, even if the words can hurt inside, and Kurt knows that they can play off that. Kurt realises that Sebastian will probably be more likely to dig in with his words despite his recent declawing, particularly right now when he’s feeling caged and defenceless, but Kurt unquestionably will not let Sebastian walk all over him like a doormat either, so they’ll just have to figure out a balance.

And to be honest – _especially_ now that Blaine’s out of the picture (maybe?) and Kurt understands why Sebastian sleeps around – Kurt’s always secretly known that they probably would’ve been great friends if things had gone down differently. Kurt’s always liked people who can stand up to him, who speak sarcasm as a second language and claw at people’s eyes to get what they want, and Sebastian has that in spades. If they can manage to keep the truly hurtful words mostly at bay (because Kurt’s a realist, and he knows that there will always be moments in _any_ friendship where things cut too deep), they’ll probably be great together.

Then Kurt internally cringes, because that sounds weird, like...well, whatever.

At length, Sebastian finally blinks and asks incredulously, “What in the actual _fuck_? You want to chop off his dick and _feed_ it to him? Who in the fuck even _are_ you?”

Kurt starts laughing, because oh my God he can’t believe Sebastian starts with that instead of the rest of the verbal diarrhoea Kurt just spewed out, and he nods as seriously as he can manage. “Yes, Sebastian. A pot of penis stew, with malaria-infested mud for garnish and some water chestnuts for crunch.”

Sebastian simply loses it despite the obvious pain it brings, and it’s a very long time before either one of them can stop the near-hysterical sniggering.

* * *

They spend the rest of the very-early morning in a sleepy state of discovery.

Now that they’ve let the big things out, the big things that no one’s ever heard except the two of them to each other, they actually get to know one another. Kurt learns so much about Sebastian in those early hours of the morning, little things – like how his favourite colour is forest green, and his favourite song is ‘Truth Begins’ by Fink, and his favourite book is ‘The Stand’ by Stephen King, even though he dislikes Stephen King as a general rule – and big things – like how he wants to become an intensivist, how he’s secretly scared of beetles because of a horrific story in his youth but loves all other creepy-crawly things, and how he so dearly wants to be a dad himself.

Kurt shares his own quirks and aspirations, though he doesn’t talk about Blaine, as that would be a weird conversation to have with _Sebastian_ of all people. He tells Sebastian about how he’s worried that he’ll never make it big on Broadway, but at the same time he’s at peace with it, because while he wants to perform, he’s content with the idea of not being the star of a show like Rachel wants to be – he simply wants to perform in any way he can. He even tells Sebastian about Dave Karofsky, and how terrifying it had been to live through those years, and how even now he can’t look at or think about Karofsky without wondering if it could’ve been worse, could’ve gone farther than a forced kiss in a locker room if Karofsky had been more determined.

He’s almost surprised about how cultured and pleasant Sebastian is now that they’ve hidden their fangs, even though Kurt’s always known that Sebastian was likeable, considering his attractiveness and how people flock around him (whether for friendship or something else). Kurt finds that he actually _likes_ Sebastian, much more than he ever thought he would originally; Sebastian’s blunt, sarcastic, and sharp around the edges, sure, but he’s also smart and charming, and he also has the added bonus of being inherently objective too, as he’s not acquainted with Kurt’s friends. It’s quite refreshing that Kurt can say anything and get an honest, unbiased answer or opinion...even it’s not an answer or opinion that he really likes to hear.

It’s not like the slight awkwardness and past rivalry has just disappeared though. There’s still a lot of bad blood between them, but Kurt’s pleased that they’re trying to push past the characteristic arguments, which happens twice even though the majority of the time they’re in sync.

They doze at random intervals, Kurt not bothering to move from Sebastian’s bed though they have created a bit of space between them. Kurt can still feel Sebastian’s body heat close by though, and despite it being Sebastian, he actually feels well-rested when he wakes up for the final time because he’s found over the past few years that he sleeps better with a warm body next to him.

Even though they’re not naked like he and Blaine used to be. Thank God.

For a long time, Kurt watches Sebastian sleep that same deep, utterly still slumber that he’s quickly becoming familiar with. Kurt himself almost always takes forever to fall asleep, his brain running wildly even as he tries to relax; he also sleeps very lightly, waking up at the slightest sounds while tossing and turning enough that he always wakes up in impossible positions. Sebastian, though, is the complete opposite – he falls asleep instantly, so solidly that it’s like he bypasses dreams entirely, and he doesn’t move the slightest millimetre other than his slow breaths and the flickers behind closed lids. Kurt doesn’t know if it’s fundamentally Sebastian or if the injuries and exhaustion are responsible, but Kurt’s just thankful that he’s sleeping in general. If Kurt had been in Sebastian’s position, in physical agony with no painkillers and emotionally wrecked from the impending trial as well as the verbalisation of those painful memories, he would’ve been completely incapable of sleeping.

And Sebastian needs sleep even more than a solid meal, so he can heal quickly.

Eventually, Sebastian does that tick where he inhales deeply though his nose while slightly smacking his lips together exactly three times, and Kurt has only a second to avert his eyes to a blank space on the beige walls before Sebastian wakes up just as quickly as he seems to fall asleep.

Sebastian hums, and then murmurs in sleep-rough French, “_You’re still here_.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, wondering if Sebastian realises that he’s speaking in a different language (or that Kurt even understands it), and if only because he’s curious, Kurt replies in French as well, “_Well, you’re too heavy to drag out by the scruff of your neck, so obviously I’m still here. Idiot._”

Sebastian gives Kurt that small, crooked smile, blinking slowly with exhaustion, and then sighs. Then, almost like he’s been electrocuted, Sebastian’s eyes widen as much as they can and he jolts, cringing a bit in pain before he seemingly manages to squash it, saying in a hoarse, but much more alert tone, “Wait, what was that?”

Just to be a little bit of a brat, Kurt asks him innocently in French, “_What was what?_”

Sebastian’s jaw drops a fraction, and his voice is almost impressed when he says, “_Well I’ll be damned. You speak French. And your accent isn’t even that bad._”

Kurt scowls, even though he knows what Sebastian means. Kurt didn’t grow up in France like Sebastian had, so he probably sounds rather American due to the intrinsic way that Americans pronounce words and work sentences; in addition, it’s not like Kurt has any native speaking friends (except now he kind of does, with Sebastian, but that’s beside the point), so he hasn’t been able to practise getting the minute inflections just right. But if anything, Sebastian complimented his accent, so those painful years of self-study have clearly paid off, if a natural speaker like Sebastian can recognise it.

Absently, Kurt can’t help but wonder how Sebastian’s accent in English is one hundred percent American, without the barest hint of French pronunciation or sentence structure, and figures that between his visits with his dad in Ohio and the fact that a lot of cinema and television is American, Sebastian picked it up with an equally diligent study.

Though Kurt can’t imagine _why_. French is the sexiest language he’s ever heard, really, and the French accent around English is almost as intoxicating. Kurt would’ve rebelled against an American accent if he had been French.

Still, Kurt realises that this is a _brilliant_ opportunity for practise, as he doesn’t want his French to get rusty, and Sebastian’s a native speaker, so he can get added inflection instruction while keeping his knowledge of the language sharp.

“_Thanks_,” Kurt answers dryly, though the scowl is replaced by a smile that can’t help but pop up at the expression on Sebastian’s face. “_I didn’t grow up in Paris, though, so it’s all learnt through Rosetta Stone, YouTube and sub-par high school education. I suppose you’ll be good for something, after all, even if it’s just French inflection lessons._”

“_Well, I aim to please_,” Sebastian shoots back with an eye roll and a flat tone, but that smile is still playing at his lips and he seems genuinely pleased.

Kurt, by extension, is equally pleased, and finally grins. “_I swear, it’s like we were meant to be friends._” Sebastian opens his mouth to retort, eyes glittering with mirth, but Kurt doesn’t let him speak, saying, “_But seriously, that aside, I need coffee. And doughnuts, because doughnuts are a comfort food and God knows we both need it. So either clean yourself up and come with me, or stay here in bed like a sloth while I make a breakfast run._”

Sebastian looks amused as he replies, “_I’ll stay here and clean up. Considering how slow I’ll probably be, you’ll be back before I’m finished anyway._”

“Okay,” Kurt says in English, because he’s not entirely sure if there are specific terms for doughnuts in French and he doesn’t want to revert to describing them with loads of words just to get specific types out. “Preferences? Besides the espresso, obviously.”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh and says, “I’d make a comment about how you know my coffee order, but I know yours too so I guess that joke’s out. And I’m good without the doughnuts – never had one before, and I’m not really keen on trying them anyway. Besides, I’m not really hungry. Coffee’s fine, and by coffee I mean yes, espresso. Preferably in a vat.”

Kurt, who can’t comprehend the idea that there is a person in the world who has _never tried a freakin’ doughnut_, quips, “One of every kind of doughnut then!” Sebastian groans as Kurt pulls himself out of Sebastian’s bed and towards the sink, wincing at the state of his hair (it really _does_ look ridiculous, spiked in ridiculous angles where the hair isn’t completely flat) before attacking it with water and a bit of substandard product until he looks somewhat put together. With a slight grimace, Kurt ducks into the loo for a quick slash and to change into his trousers from yesterday, and by the time he’s washed his hands and brushed his teeth, his stomach is growling loudly and his head is pounding from the lack of caffeine and the aftermath of the last emotional twenty-four hours. Kurt knows that he kind of looks like he’s either hungover or an exhausted uni student who has exams coming up, but at this point, he doesn’t care. Much.

Kurt grabs his keys, mobile, and wallet, saying absently, “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t shower or you’ll rip your stitches, and decide what you want to do next.” Then, with a quick smile, Kurt opens the door and heads out.

It takes him a good five minutes to find a doughnut shop in close proximity to both the hotel and a coffee joint that’s not a Starbucks, and tries to be quick about it. He goes to the doughnut shop first, not _actually_ getting one of everything but getting a good selection regardless. He eats a cinnamon twist in the car, because his stomach is actively trying to ingest itself, and then heads to the little coffee shop. The barista gives him a weird look when he asks for as many shots of espresso that can fit in their biggest cup, but ultimately he heads out with two large cups of caffeine, almost fifty dollars lighter. He hopes that the bean is worth the outrageous price.

By the time he makes it back to the hotel thirty minutes later, Sebastian looks much better, though it’s strange to walk in and see him with a toothbrush in his mouth. He places the coffees on the nightstand and then heads out to the rental again for the box of doughnuts, already inhaling his second doughnut (apple-filled) by the time that he finally sits cross legged on his own bed, trying to focus on not getting apple filling on his shirt instead of watching Sebastian.

He licks his fingers absently, taking a quick sip of too-hot mocha before he says, “At least eat one, if only to say that you’ve tried a doughnut. Still can’t believe that people like you exist. Anyway, there’s a lot to choose from, and I’ll literally eat all of them if you don’t have one, which I _really_ don’t need.”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh before he runs the tap, rinsing out his toothbrush and his mouth methodically. He gingerly walks back to the beds, manoeuvring his way into a somewhat comfortable position against the pillows, and then reaches out for his coffee with his good arm. He pops off the lid and then brings the cup to his face, inhaling deeply and saying quietly, “Thanks.”

Kurt simply shrugs, and wonders when the world will right itself again. Christ, but Sebastian genuinely thanking him is just _weird_, even after the almost dreamlike night and early morning they’ve had.

Sebastian takes a small sip of his espresso, humming with contentment under his breath, and says, “Jesus, I’ve never seen so much coffee in one cup before. It’s practically obscene.”

“Well, they didn’t have a vat, so the large was the best I could do,” Kurt replies with a smile, eyeing the box of pastries. Though he doesn’t want to pester Sebastian, he also knows that he needs to eat something, so he continues, “There’s four of these left. Plain glazed, chocolate icing, another cinnamon twist, and a pumpkin. Please eat at least one? If you won’t take any ibuprofen, you’re going to need the food so you heal faster and won’t be in pain as long. Besides,” he adds with a small hesitation, not sure if Sebastian will get defensive over the tease but hoping that it speaks to his vain, stubborn side, “no one wants to sleep with a twig, so you need to put some weight on.”

Sebastian doesn’t speak for a long time, but eventually says, “Nah, there’s always someone who’ll dig it. But whatever, if it’ll keep you from nagging like my maman.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile when Sebastian picks the pumpkin one with two fingers – though Kurt’s pretty sure that he only picked it because it was the only one without copious amounts of glaze or chocolate on it. Kurt can kind of see the logic behind it, whether it’s from Sebastian being wary about introducing a boat-load of sugar into his system after an unspecified period of fasting or if it’s just simple aversion to too many calories. Either way Kurt can relate, since he’s a health nut, though Sebastian does it for totally different reasons.

They’re quiet for a while, Sebastian picking at the doughnut more than eating it while Kurt gives in and wolfs down the other cinnamon twist. They’ve always been his favourite after all, and he’s never been able to resist doughnuts in general. Other than waffles, doughnuts are Kurt’s ultimate comfort food, and he has to force himself to not buy them except in rare circumstances or he’d be the size of a house with the cholesterol to match.

By the time Kurt’s finished his twist and coffee, swigging the remainder of his water to rinse out his mouth, Sebastian’s barely finished with half and it’s almost ten. Kurt peeks glances at Sebastian occasionally, unable to stop worrying about him even though he doesn’t show or verbalise it, but he also is feeling a bit antsy. He needs to know what Sebastian is planning on doing, because Kurt either needs to take him somewhere or book another night for the hotel. He’s more than happy to stay another night, to his surprise (though he’ll have to take it easy on shopping for a few months so he doesn’t blow through his savings account faster than he can put money into it), but he needs Sebastian to make up his mind before checkout. If Sebastian decides to stay at the hotel with Kurt for another night, he’ll be forced to cancel his performance for his dad and the Friday night dinner they had planned, even if Kurt isn’t too bothered by that; he’ll be in Lima until the next weekend, due to NYADA’s Spring Break that’s coinciding with Regionals for New Directions, so he’s fine being with Sebastian instead. Honestly, Sebastian needs someone more than Kurt’s friends and family need him right now, since the boy doesn’t have anyone except his parents...and Kurt is still stubbornly maintaining that Sebastian’s parents are arseholes.

So he says quietly, “D’you want me to book another night? It’s up to you, and I don’t mind either way. I just need to know by half-ten, since checkout is at eleven.”

Sebastian lets out a long, exhausted sigh, smashes the rest of his doughnut into a ball inside the napkin he’d been using as a makeshift plate, and then tosses it onto the nightstand, grabbing his coffee and wrapping his fingers around it. He grimaces slightly when the movements of his arms jostle his right shoulder, the reason for the abandoned sling from what Kurt can tell, but eventually relaxes into the pillows. “No, I need to go home. They’ve probably gotten the call that I’ve skipped my classes by now, and they’re more than likely calling the cavalry. No reason for you to get arrested for attempted kidnapping or something.”

Kurt smiles, though that’s a terrifying thought, and says, “Alright, we have an hour then.” He glances around, taking a quick stock of everything they’ll have to get together before they leave. It’s not too messy at least, and while he knows that maids are employed to clean up after guests, Kurt’s always been wary of leaving a big mess. It just makes him feel bad.

Still, Kurt’s not in any hurry – it’ll only take ten minutes or so to clean up a bit and gather up everything they need and want – so he simply relaxes into his own pillows and says into the mildly uncomfortable silence, “So what’re you doing after you graduate, except for...well, y’know?” As he waits for an answer, he picks up his mobile to send a text to Mercedes about the performance being a-go, if only for something to take his mind off the fact that he naturally wants to offer Sebastian some ibuprofen or another doughnut, because he’s not eaten enough and is clearly still in pain.

“Well, the original plan was to start summer classes and spend time in New York before moving into my flat in late August,” Sebastian says with another sigh, “but that’s clearly not happening. I’m pretty certain that I’ll be confined to the house all summer so I don’t do a runner.”

Kurt frowns, and despite the fact that this weird almost-friendship is still new and that Rachel and Santana will probably have a coronary, he hears himself offer, “You should come to New York anyway, even if it’s with your family. You can always sleep on our couch if you need a break...or, I guess, use it as an excuse if you want to go out instead.”

Sebastian looks at him, clearly surprised, and Kurt gives him a smile, even if it’s a bit more hesitant than he would prefer. He actually _doesn’t_ mind if Sebastian kips on their sofa, though the girls might, because Sebastian needs a damned break from his family and the impending trial. New York is a good way to accomplish that, and it’s not exactly a secret that Kurt’s fairly straight-laced. If anything, Sebastian’s parents can feel secure that Kurt won’t encourage or allow drugs or copious amounts of drinking in his flat, and he supposes that he’ll have to make a long-winded appeal to Sebastian’s parents to really emphasise that.

And Kurt has the added bonus of being a Congressman’s son, so Kurt can always get his dad to appeal to them as well, should it come to that. His dad is honest to a fault, and is well respected in the political circles, which Sebastian’s father is a part of, being an elected state’s attorney.

He doesn’t even mind Sebastian using it as an excuse to get a guy into bed – now that Kurt understands why Sebastian does it, and is sexually active himself, he can’t really find it in himself to look down on it like he would’ve even six months ago. It’s comforting to Sebastian, and God knows Sebastian needs that comfort right now. As long as it doesn’t happen in Kurt’s flat, and as long as Sebastian’s safe with it (and Kurt’s sure he is, without a doubt), he’s more than happy to serve as an intermediary, if that’s what Sebastian needs.

“Huh,” Sebastian says finally, blinking at Kurt. “Well. Er. Thanks?”

Kurt snorts, and then locks his mobile, standing up with a sharp exhale. As he bustles around, tidying up and packing his belongings, he says honestly, “Seriously, I don’t mind. Just don’t bring over randoms. The loft is small enough as it is, and I don’t want to hear you squeaking like a chipmunk during sex at all hours of the day. Some of us need sleep to function properly.”

“Squeaking?” Sebastian says with mock-offense, bringing a hand gingerly to his chest with sarcastic flair. “I don’t squeak, buttercup; I _purr_.”

Kurt barks out a laugh, automatically bringing a hand to his mouth self-consciously to muffle the sound, and manages to get out through his guffaws, “Considering how moronic you sound in a normal, day-to-day setting, I sincerely doubt it.” Kurt’s actually kind of lying here, since he’s heard Sebastian come onto guys before (well, Blaine only, but still) and it really _does_ sound like a purr, but he’s always found it more sleazy than attractive. However, he has to deliver the sarcastic volleys, because they’re not _Kurt-and-Sebastian_ without the mockery, genuine antagonism or not.

Besides, he’s pretty sure Sebastian appreciates it, and with a quick glance and smirk in Sebastian’s direction, he’s positive, judging by the amused smile quirking the uninjured corner of his lips.

“At least I don’t sound like I’ve been inhaling helium my entire life,” Sebastian snarks back, clear challenge in his green eyes and obviously enjoying the familiar banter. He seems calmer now, and that sickening air of depression and helplessness Kurt had felt before is mercifully muted or even momentarily forgotten, and Kurt can’t help but think, ‘_I helped do that. _I_ did that_.’

Kurt shoots back with a wide, slightly lewd grin, “Clearly you’ve never heard me during sex. I’m quite fond of the lower registers when I’m screwing my boyfriends.”

The delighted laugh – albeit with an accompanying cringe of pain – he gets is totally worth the uncharacteristic shamelessness.

* * *

Sebastian lives in the neighbourhood of Bexley, which doesn’t really surprise Kurt.

It’s one of the most expensive areas in Columbus, and Sebastian’s huge, sprawling family home is nestled in a private cul-de-sac that makes Kurt green with envy just looking at it. He’s always been happy with his past residences, because Kurt’s always lived in good homes in Lima, but Sebastian’s house is just obscene and Kurt’s always dreamt of having a huge house or massive flat that carries the same affluence as the Smythe household seemingly does. Kurt’s always known that Sebastian comes from a family with money, and that his father’s a powerful lawyer as well, but seeing the house from the outside really hammers that vague idea home.

He pulls the rental into the small, circular driveway, parking right in front of the three-door garage. He doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do now – if he’s supposed to just let Sebastian get out and then drive off, or if he’s supposed to help him get out (it had been a rough few minutes just getting Sebastian _in_ the car in the first place), or if he should go in and try to be a buffer. It’s probably not his place to butt into Sebastian’s personal affairs with his family, but he can’t deny that he’s curious as to what they’re really like, without the skein of Sebastian’s bitter perspective shrouding it. And he wants to introduce himself, if only to give Sebastian’s family a face to a name, especially if Sebastian takes Kurt up on the offer to kip on his sofa during the summer hols.

He also really wants to see the inside, but he can’t actually say that because it’d be rude.

In the end, Sebastian makes that decision for him once they both see the front door open and two people hurrying out, the woman’s pretty face splotchy with tears and the man’s expression openly frantic: “C’mon, Princess. I know you have to get back for your sad little return to Nude Erections, because clearly you’re lame and can’t move on from high school, but I need a human shield. They _probably_ won’t make too big of a fuss if you’re here, and I can pretend to sleep until school on Monday once you leave.”

Kurt shakes his head, warily eyeing the two people who’re obviously Sebastian’s parents and aware that this is going to be brutal, and doesn’t respond, turning off the rental and hopping out of the car to halt Sebastian’s parents for the time being. The two people stop in their tracks at the sight of him, and Kurt can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious because he’s wearing day-old pants and an unflattering, cheap CVS shirt. If it had been up to him, he would’ve met Sebastian’s parents in his full armour, namely a fabulous outfit with an accompanying fabulous hat.

Though he’s still a bit angry at these two people, if he’s honest, he makes a silent vow to keep his mouth shut. The last thing he needs to do is yell at them, even if Kurt sincerely thinks they deserve it for what they’re doing to Sebastian, regardless of their good intentions.

“I’m Kurt Hummel, son of Congressman Burt Hummel? I’m a friend of your son,” Kurt starts with the deliberate name drop of his dad, giving them a tight smile. His eyes take in Sebastian’s parents – he looks like both of them, though Sebastian definitely favours his mother – and he continues, “Now don’t freak out, but Sebastian is a bit...well, he’s hurt.” The twin expressions of terror are expected, yet Kurt’s horrified when Sebastian’s mum bursts into tears and makes choppy movements towards the passenger’s side door, where Sebastian’s hiding. Kurt intercepts immediately, feeling almost out of touch with reality when he gently places his hands on her dainty shoulders and shoots a look at the father, who appears to be frozen in a state of panic. His pale blue eyes are wide and glistening, and Kurt’s already feeling totally out of his depth as the mother weakly sobs out disjointed sentences in French, trying to get to her son despite being lightly restrained by a stranger.

And despite the fact that he’d made the vow all of ten seconds ago, Kurt can’t help but snap, “Pull yourself together and act like parents, for God’s _sake_.”

The mother doesn’t react, continuing to weep while trying to pull out of Kurt’s grasp, but the father flinches, rubbing a hand down his pale face and striding forward to take Sebastian’s mum from Kurt. “What happened?” Sebastian’s father demands, though the insistent request is weak due to his thin, wet tone. Kurt takes a step back, trying to put some space in between them while also blocking the way to the rental. He doesn’t want Sebastian’s parents rushing the vehicle like barbarians, completely lost in their own emotions without taking Sebastian’s mental state into regards (something parents are quite adept at doing, unfortunately, especially overprotective and overbearing ones like Sebastian’s apparently are), because the last thing Sebastian needs right now is to be overwhelmed by his hysterical parents when he’s already weak, battered, exhausted, and mentally fragile.

Christ, but what in the actual _hell_ has Kurt found himself in the middle of?

According to the pre-canned, half-truthful explanation they had fleshed out, instead of the absolute truth (which was that Sebastian had deliberately hit on the girlfriend of an undoubtedly dangerous guy at a club just to get into a fight), Kurt explains, “He got into a bit of a fight. Broke up a domestic issue between a couple, and Sebastian didn’t really come out of it in the best shape.” Hastily, because the mother is legitimately wailing now and the father is ashen grey, Kurt adds, “It’s not as bad as it sounds. He’s banged up, yeah, and his shoulder was dislocated, and he’s fractured a few ribs, but he’ll be fine with some rest and some _peace and quiet_.” He emphasises that last point rather harshly, probably a bit _too_ harshly judging by the expression on Sebastian’s dad’s face, so he makes a real effort to soften his tone when he finishes, “Look, I know it’s scary, and it’s a hell of a thing to hear considering everything else you’re all dealing with right now, but I’m serious, he doesn’t need the stress of you freaking out on him. Just..._please_, you need to both calm down and be strong for him right now, okay?”

Since it’s apparent that his mother is useless, Sebastian’s dad nods disjointedly and shakily says, “Yes, yes, okay, yes, we can—yes, okay, just...okay, I’ll be right back.” He blinks a few times, the moisture in his eyes falling down his stubbled, grey cheeks, and he mercifully begins leading the mother back to the house in small, shaky steps.

Kurt takes a few deep breaths to steady his heart and nerves, and then pivots on his heel back to the rental. By the time he makes it to Sebastian’s door, he can feel himself shaking, and he can’t help but wonder if this is even a good idea, leaving Sebastian in the care of these people who are almost as shattered as Sebastian seems to be. Sebastian really doesn’t need the added stress, because Kurt knows how it’ll go: Sebastian will push himself too far to try and shrug off everything, spending more time placating his family rather than getting rest so he can heal. It’s what Kurt would do if he was in the same situation.

Kurt hates it, and when he opens the door, the first thing he says is “I don’t think this is a good idea. I _really_ don’t think this is a good idea. This is _not_ what you need to be dealing with right now. I will drive your ass back to Lima or the hotel _right now_ if you give me the word, and my dad and Carole or fucking Uber will make sure that you get to Dalton without any trouble.”

Sebastian just looks at him with dull green eyes, that horrible defeated air seeping from his pores again, and says tonelessly, “No, I have to be here. It’ll be fine. They’re just worried.”

“_Sebastian_,” Kurt breathes, almost pleadingly, but Sebastian just stiffly shakes his head. “It’ll be fine,” he says again. “I knew what would happen if I got into that fight, and I did it anyway. This is on me, and if I have to deal with them being hysterical until I’m on my own, then so be it. I did this to myself, Kurt. Now help me out of here; I’m not going to be able to do it by myself.”

Kurt really hates this, the idea of leaving Sebastian in this situation, but there’s nothing he can do. Sebastian’s over the age of consent, but he’s not eighteen yet, so unless he wants the full brunt of Sebastian’s father’s connections trouncing down on Kurt and his dad, he’s out of options. Besides, Sebastian can’t ‘do a runner’, as Sebastian had described it, because more than anything Sebastian just needs to move on with his life, and he can’t do that without university. It’s a terrible circle of utter _shit_, but Kurt just clenches his jaw, exhales noisily through his teeth, and then nods.

He helps Sebastian manoeuvre his long, skinny limbs as best he can until Sebastian’s standing on his own two feet, breathing shallowly and sweating slightly despite the cold air. Kurt tenses when Sebastian’s father joins them, a silent presence as he supports Sebastian’s other side during the walk up to the front doors. It’s slow progress, since Sebastian can’t move too quickly without aggravating his injuries, but eventually they make it, the door already open by an elderly man murmuring in French that looks like Sebastian probably will when he’s much older, their features eerily similar despite the age difference.

Sebastian definitely takes after his mother’s side of the family, that’s for sure.

They make their way through the open ground floor, bypassing the simple elegance that comes with money used tastefully, but Kurt doesn’t take much in – only a few minutes ago, he had wanted to see the inside of the home, but now all he wants to do is pick Sebastian up and run back to the hotel. He’ll take the teasing quips and the sarcastic snark and the surprisingly easy camaraderie over this overemotional, tense house, because Sebastian had seemed almost like himself when they had been alone, but now he’s a silent ghost surrounded by hovering family members.

Thankfully, the mother seems to be out of the picture for the time being, though Kurt doesn’t figure that’ll last long, but there are six other people that are too close and as wet-eyed as Sebastian’s father. There’s an elderly couple clutching each other’s hands tightly, who Kurt suspects are Sebastian’s paternal grandparents, the elderly man from before, and a pretty red-headed woman who must be the step-mother. There are two kids at her legs that _really_ shouldn’t be here, in Kurt’s opinion, two girls that are a delicate blend of the step-mum and Sebastian’s father, and Kurt didn’t even know that Sebastian had half-siblings. It doesn’t really matter, of course, not right now, but Kurt desperately wishes that the girls – twins, from the looks of them, and both of them red-eyed and furiously wiping their wet cheeks – weren’t watching this. It’s just not right to let them watch their brother walk in like this, all battered and defeated, and Kurt wants to _scream_ at these people.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Sebastian mumbles when they finally enter a doorway at the back of the house, the rest of his family members hovering behind them.

Kurt blinks a bit, eyes quickly taking in Sebastian’s room, because it’s not messy at all. If anything, it looks almost unnervingly organised and clean, to the point where Kurt himself feels like he’ll mess something up just _breathing_. There are books everywhere: in the bookshelves that line two of the walls, piled on the desk against a bay window, on the windowsills themselves, on the nightstands. It’s the only thing that Kurt can think of when Sebastian says ‘mess’, but he can’t even see that because even the books are orderly. The ones on the bookcases are perfectly in a line along the edges of the shelves, in what looks like a colour-based organisation rather than alphabetically, and it’s the same with the ones on his windowsills. His laptop is perfectly centred on his desk, with his biros in an impeccably measured line atop a notebook as if he’d measured it out with a ruler (and in fact, Kurt can _see_ a ruler, lined up meticulously next to the notebook). His bed has been made with perfect precision, the corners folded in like a hospital bed (which Kurt figures that Sebastian learnt in rehab, if it hadn’t been a cleaning service), and the pillows on his bed are so disturbingly identical in both shape and fluff that they don’t look _real_. His open closet in between his bathroom and bedroom is organised by colour as well, and by type (left side seems to be formal, the right seems to be casual, and the colour gradient seems to be by the rainbow, with browns, whites, greys, and blacks at the ends in that order – he also doesn’t seem to have any clothes with colours that mix), and Kurt can see even from his current distance that the identical black hangars are the same few centimetres apart. The photos he has on his walls are perfectly level and in groups of threes, all of the images still-lifes of symmetrical black-and-white objects instead of personal pictures.

Looking at this monochrome room, and the level of frantic organisation it shows, really emphasises how _not okay_ Sebastian is.

While one of Sebastian’s grandparents (he’s sure it’s his paternal grandmother) tugs at the comforter and sheets on Sebastian’s bed, Kurt shoots Sebastian’s father a truly dangerous look. It works, because the father backs up quickly so Kurt can gently manoeuvre Sebastian onto the bed with the least amount of pain feasible. As Kurt reaches over Sebastian’s tense body to pull the covers over his body, he says to the group behind him in a no-nonsense tone, “Leave. Give us a few minutes alone.” For good measure, he reiterates in French, “_Give us a few moments alone, now_,” just in case Sebastian’s maternal grandparents don’t understand English that well (though he doubts that’s the case).

There’s a low murmuring behind him, but Kurt doesn’t care to look in their direction. He’s afraid that he’ll glare or lose his temper entirely at the sight of them not getting the hell out, and besides, Sebastian hasn’t taken his eyes off Kurt since he’s laid down, and Kurt can’t bear to take his own eyes off Sebastian for even a second.

Then, mercifully, Kurt hears Sebastian’s father say weakly, “Of course, Mr Hummel,” before there’s the click of the door shutting.

“Breathe,” Sebastian immediately says, eyes flickering between Kurt’s own, and Kurt inhales deeply. He can feel honest-to-God _rage_ licking at his throat, his vision red in the corners, and the only thing that he can do that _doesn’t_ involve running outside and bellowing at these people is falling to his knees heavily, cringing slightly when his bones smash against the light grey rug and the hardwood beneath. The sharp stab of pain is refreshing though, taking his mind off the urge to really _show_ his anger to the people around him, because he doesn’t want to get arrested or stress Sebastian out any more than he already is.

God, but Kurt feels nonsensical right now, and he’s certain that he’s never felt unbridled fury before, not even at himself. It’s almost scary, how potent it is, and he desperately needs to gather some control over himself before he does something out-of-character, something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.

It’s so _hard_ though. It’s just _so_ hard.

So Kurt just takes in sharp, painful breaths, knees throbbing and his fingernails digging into his palms, to steady himself, and once he feels less like he’s going to scream or throw something and can actually see straight, he falls to the side onto his arse, burying his face into the fabric of Sebastian’s off-white comforter.

His voice muffled, he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Sebastian’s silent for a long time, and then he sighs. “Don’t be. The whole situation sucks, and honestly, it was kind of funny, you going into bitch-mode to my family. But still, it’s not worth it, so don’t work yourself up over them, okay?” Kurt can feel fingertips in his hair, almost a poke and almost a caress but not quite either somehow, and he looks up, mouth and nose still pressed against the soft fabric but eyes searching out Sebastian’s.

Kurt can’t decipher what Sebastian’s expression is, as it’s a foreign look that Kurt’s never seen before on Sebastian’s face, so he mentally files the mental picture for later and admits, “It was better than throwing one of your books at their heads, and it was a pretty close thing for a minute there.”

“Assault charges won’t help your chances getting on Broadway,” Sebastian says absently, then continues, “I’ll be fine though. You have a song to sing for your dad, and I’m just going to sleep anyway, so...”

Kurt takes the dismissal as it is, and takes a deep breath that hurts his lungs and chest from the force of it before standing up. He hesitates for a second, and then asks, “Can I at least mess up your desk a bit? I just want a sheet of paper and something to write with, and I’ll try to put it back how I found it.”

Sebastian replies with a half-hearted jibe, “That’s fine. No love notes though, ‘kay buttercup? I’d rather save the gagging for a nice, hard prick.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, though it’s half-hearted at best, turning on his heel to the desk. As he inwardly cringes about messing up Sebastian OCD-esque organisation and writes his mobile number in the first blank page he can get find, he replies back drily, “I’d rather write a sonnet for a troll, but I’ll make a valiant attempt to refrain from offending your cold-hearted façade nevertheless, _pumpkin_.”

Kurt glances over his shoulder to wink simultaneously with the overly sweet moniker, but it’s only fair if Sebastian’s going to stick with ‘buttercup’ (even if Kurt prefers that epithet over ‘Lady Face’ and ‘Princess’ and other more hurtful digs at his effeminate face, because at least it’s vaguely generic instead of an obvious slur).

The eyebrow that isn’t bisected with stitches is raised on Sebastian’s face, but there’s a small, crooked, barely-there smile and it almost breaks Kurt’s heart, because he doesn’t want to leave Sebastian here by himself, doesn’t want that faint smile to disappear once Kurt walks out that door, but he _has_ to leave, he _knows_ that, and so he turns back to the desk, closes the notebook, and puts the biros back into their black-white-black-white-black order as evenly as he can manage before he straightens his spine.

Kurt looks at the too-thin, battered, broken boy under the comforter of his bed and wants so very much to stay, at least until Sebastian has to leave for France. Instead, he says quietly, his throat tight, “My number’s in there. Call me, even if it’s just to rant about overprotective parents or how stupid calculus is. And try to talk to your parents, see if they’ll let you come to New York; I’ll...I’ll even let you drag me out to a club, if only so you can mock me until you find your guy of the night. Okay? Please, just...just call, okay? I already told you last night that you’re stuck with my gay face now, and I really don’t want to have to fly out here and re-break your ribs if you try to avoid me, because I will, trust me. I know where you live now, anyway, so good luck hiding from me.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond, but there’s a sort of softness in his gaze that makes Kurt feel a weird curl of something in his stomach (confusion? discomfort?), and Kurt exhales noisily before he wiggles his fingers at Sebastian with a tight smile and opens the door, saying, “Talk to you later, pumpkin.”

The last thing he sees is Sebastian’s smile and that soft look in his eyes before the door closes between them.

By some miracle, he’s alone in the hallway, and he takes a few seconds to recall how he got here in the first place before he tentatively begins walking one direction, hoping that he doesn’t get lost in this strange house. He’s lucky in that regard at least, because he finds his way to the open-floor sitting room next to the foyer in only a few minutes, but he’s supremely unlucky otherwise because said sitting room is filled with Sebastian’s family members, including the two young girls that _still_ shouldn’t be here. They all look at him at once, and Kurt freezes, all of those blue and green eyes looking at him with tears in their eyes and expressions ranging from shock to suspicion to fear.

It’s the sight of the two girls that makes Kurt see red, and there’s nothing in this world that could ease him down from the ledge this time, not now that Sebastian’s out of his sight (_no he doesn’t want that he wants to stay and make sure Sebastian’s okay, Jesus Christ, this isn’t right, Kurt can’t _leave_ him here_).

He feels like he’s not in control of his body, like something alien has taken over his vocal chords and limbs, and he distantly hears himself say in a tight, low voice, “Get the children out of here; they don’t need to hear this.”

There’s a moment where no one moves, and then Sebastian’s father says to the red-headed woman (and she’s the only one with a name that Kurt actually knows, because Sebastian said _Nina_, and isn’t that lovely), “Honey, take the girls to their rooms. I think Mr Hummel has a few things to say to us.”

Nina simply nods with a wet sniff, wiping her eyes and ushering the girls up. While she’s leading them out, Kurt tries to breathe past the anger making his heart thud thickly in his chest, tries to see past the red haze in his eyes, tries to quell the throbbing rush of blood pounding in his veins, and Kurt gives the girls a few minutes to really be out of hearing range before he lets it all out in a tone that conveys to the audience in every syllable how much _rage_ he feels.

“I understand,” Kurt says, his voice quiet with his fury but carrying in the silence nonetheless. “Trust me, I do. You’ve lost a daughter, and you’ve nearly lost a son. If they were my children, I would tear that monster limb from limb without any consideration to my own fate. What he did to your family, your _children_, is barbaric and I don’t blame you for wanting justice, for wanting closure. I understand with every fibre of my being that you want that man to _burn_ for what he’s done.

“But you need to understand something yourselves. I’m sorry, but Charlotte is dead.” The entire room cringes, and Sebastian’s mother opens her mouth to speak but Kurt doesn’t let her, continuing lowly, “She’s been dead for four years, and there’s nothing you can do about that now. She’s dead, and she can’t come back from that.

“But your son, your _son_, is still breathing. He’s still _here_, and he’s _hurting_, and you _can_ still bring him back from that. You can still help him. You can still save him. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re all devastated and horrified and a thousand other things, but Sebastian’s still _here_, and he needs you more than ever. He needs someone to be strong for him, to not treat him like he’s fragile, to believe in him and treat him like he’s a human being, and right now _you are failing him_. Your son is falling apart, and you’re doing nothing to help him pick up the pieces.”

Kurt’s voice goes shaky with a bone-deep sadness, his own reluctant tears pooling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks, though the cold rage is still evident in his tightly controlled tone. “I understand, but there’s a line between justice and what you are all doing to Sebastian right now, and you’ve sprinted past justice into a disgusting, sickening _cruelty_. There is a broken boy laying in a bed that needs support and understanding and compassion, and you’re giving him the complete opposite. Forcing that broken, shattered boy to swallow everything he’s feeling and suffering with just so _you_ feel better? Forcing him into a courtroom to stare his rapist in the face by telling him you’ll tear away his future, his _dreams_ if he doesn’t comply, when a video confession played in court would suffice?”

Kurt takes a gasping breath, his entire body shaking so violently that even he can see it in his blurry peripheral vision, and sobs out in a shrill scream, just _done_, “That’s just _heartless_, and you all _disgust_ me! You are _torturing_ him right now, and all of you should be _ashamed_ of yourselves! What the hell is _wrong_ with you people?! If you force him to do this, the only thing it’s going to accomplish is Sebastian’s dead body in a _fucking ditch_, and that’ll be on _you_!”

Kurt’s hands fly to his mouth, trying to stifle the painful sobs ripping from his throat, and he convulses upright, nearly falling to his knees from the force of it. He sees Sebastian’s father push himself up, his face wet with his own tears and his arms reaching out for Kurt, but Kurt just hisses out, “Don’t _touch_ me.” He doesn’t feel a shred of guilt when the man flinches away, and he finishes in a barely-audible voice, “If you do this to him, if you force him to do this, you _will_ kill him, whether it’s from starving himself, overdosing on drugs, or simply putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. So you people need to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself if you’re doing this for Sebastian, or if you’re doing this for _yourselves_.”

Kurt grits his teeth, rubbing his hands down his face as if it’ll help with the flood of tears pouring down his face. Then makes a sardonic half-bow to the crying, horrified people in the sitting room, saying with watery sarcasm, “That’s all I have to say, and I so _dearly_ hope you don’t murder your child by going through with this cruel farce you’ve extorted him into. God knows Sebastian isn’t perfect, but he’s worth so much more than that, and I hope you aren’t too blind to see it before it’s too late to change your minds.”

And Kurt spins around, walking out with as much dignity as he can muster, which admittedly isn’t much. He throws the door open and stumbles out, not even bothering to shut it behind him, and drags himself to the rental, climbing in half-blind from tears and trying to turn the key in the ignition to start the vehicle. He can’t though, and suddenly he just breaks, curling into himself and weeping, because _he shouldn’t have said any of that_, but he’s _glad_, because those fucking people needed to _hear_ it, else Sebastian really _was_ going to die from it all.

So he just cries and cries and _cries_, for the whole situation and the regret of speaking his mind to grieving people and for all the victims of Nicolas Juppé, and he doesn’t leave until the tears are manageable and he can see Sebastian’s father simply watching him through the sitting room window.

Then he drives the two hours home.

* * *

Kurt is still reeling a bit from that bizarre dinner at Breadstix when Sebastian finally contacts him.

He doesn’t recognise the number on the text, but the message itself – ‘_Hey buttercup, can I call?_’ – is more than enough for Kurt to make a positive identification, so instead of texting back, he simply adds the number under ‘PUMPKIN’ into his contacts and calls Sebastian himself. He barely has the time to swallow down the flutter of nerves (because he figures Sebastian’s calling to yell at him for losing it on Friday) before Sebastian answers with a point-blank, “_What did you even say to them?_”

Kurt’s had this entire speech planned out in his head, and he’s even practised it in front of the mirror in his old room (now a spare) and while trying to decompress enough to sleep, but the second Sebastian says those words, the well-planned explanation in his head just disappears into dust. Instead, he hears himself whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I know you’re mad, and I promise that I didn’t betray your confidence, but I just got so _mad_ and I couldn’t hel—”

“_Wait, hold up_,” Sebastian interjects, and Kurt stops his ramble mid-word, his heart pounding and holding his breath to keep the rest of his apology inside. However, the frantic apology is practically forgotten when Sebastian continues, “_Seriously, I’m not mad. Actually, if you were standing right in front of me, I’d fucking kiss you, despite you being liable to bite my face off for it._”

In a small voice, because that was not at all what he had been expecting, Kurt asks, “Excuse me?”

Sebastian exhales noisily and says, “_I think you put the fear of God into my family, Kurt Hummel, because they aren’t making me testify._”

This heavy, sickening weight that’s been on his chest since that dreamlike night lifts, and Kurt suddenly feels like he can breathe again. He falls backwards onto the bed with a soft sound and feels so relieved that he’s worried he’s going to cry again, even though he’s utterly _sick_ of crying. He manages to breathe out, “Oh thank God,” and absently wonders if he really should take up religion after all, because he’s been praying to whatever gods are floating in the clouds that Sebastian’s parents would see reason and apparently _something_ has answered.

“_Yeah, no kidding_,” Sebastian replies, and now that he’s hearing something besides his pounding heart, Kurt can tell that Sebastian’s voice is back to normal, full-volume and not raspy at all. In a slightly bewildered tone, Sebastian says, “_I mean, it’s like they did this one-eighty overnight. Well, more like a one-twenty, but nothing’s perfect I guess._”

Kurt is curious now, and feels a bit more secure that Sebastian’s not going to bite his head off, so he asks, “What else? A one-twenty turnaround seems a bit steep for just pulling back on torturing you.”

Sebastian laughs in between groans of pain, and Kurt cringes a bit, knowing that Sebastian’s ribs will take a lot longer to heal than a bruised throat and in a way, Kurt’s kind of responsible for aggravating that injury by making Sebastian laugh. Still though, it’s nice to hear him laugh. “_Ha, yeah, kinda. Er, I still have to go to Paris under threat of losing Columbia, but that was part of the deal. They don’t want to leave me unsupervised while this is all going down, so I’ll be supervised by one of my _grands-parents_ so I don’t spend two weeks on a bender or jump off of a building or something, but I don’t have to actually be _in_ the courtroom until the day of the actual sentencing, which was also part of the deal and let’s be real, it’s kinda a small price to pay. And I have to give a testimony, but I managed to wiggle out of my parents being in the room when I give it, thank God. It’s not like they won’t see it during the trial anyway. I’m also allowed to go to New York like originally planned, but not without Father and not for the whole summer, since Father has to work for the first half and Maman’s going back to France after I graduate for the last of her own testimonies before the trial. We’ll be in the city for about three weeks, as Father managed to schedule a long leave so he could be in France. He’s just going to be adding on unpaid vacation days in addition to the paid family leave, not that he cares much about the money obviously. So yeah, we’ll be there from mid-July to a few days before everything kicks off in Paris. That’s about the extent of it, really._”

Kurt opens his mouth a few times to speak, but he can’t get anything out so he finally just hums out a pleased sound through his wide grin. He’s absolutely over the moon about what his family did for Sebastian, even though he doesn’t agree with their demand to have Sebastian in the courtroom to hear the sentencing, and it’s clear from Sebastian’s tone that he’s still in a state of pleased shock, so Kurt finally says happily, “God, that’s _amazing_, Sebastian! I don’t even know what to say.”

“_Meh, don’t say anything, though I guess you’re entitled to say ‘you’re welcome’._”

Kurt snorts, and if it’s a bit wet, he won’t admit it out loud. “I don’t think that’s fair,” Kurt admits. “I didn’t do anything – your parents made those decisions. _I_ thought you were calling to yell at me, actually.”

Sebastian says with a hint of curiosity mixed with a heap of confusion, “_Why would I yell at you? Whatever you did, it _worked_, y’know?_”

Kurt sighs, then confesses, “I was...well, to be perfectly honest, I was out of line and said some really hurtful things. Like, really hurtful. I’m glad that they’ve come to their senses, but I sincerely doubt that it happened from anything I said. I mean, I told them that their daughter was already dead and that you were going to end up dead in a ditch yourself and that they were despicable people, Sebastian, and that wasn’t my place.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “I feel like I should apologise to them, but I can’t. I won’t. I don’t regret it, but still, I should’ve gone about it better, and I’m sorry.”

Sebastian is quiet over the mobile for a long time, and then suddenly there’s a beep in his ear. He pulls the mobile away from his cheek, his other hand coming to his mouth in horror, because Sebastian’s hung up on him, and oh God, Kurt feels the guilt and the panic creep up his throat in an agonising ball of thick, black tar, choking him from the inside out.

And then his mobile rings again, only this time it’s FaceTime from ‘PUMPKIN’.

Kurt doesn’t hesitate to answer but he can’t speak, nor does he turn on a light so he can be seen on Sebastian’s side. He can see Sebastian through the screen of what’s probably his laptop, the swelling of his right eye almost gone but his face still bruised in that ugly yellowish-green colour of healing. The stitches in his face have disappeared, which makes sense since it’s nearly been a week, but the cuts still look red and angry against the fading bruises covering his face. Nevertheless, Sebastian does look better, physically at least, even though his cheekbones are still too sharp and his short hair is still lifeless from malnutrition.

“_Hey,_” Sebastian greets. “_Sorry I just hung up, but if I had tried to tell you beforehand I would’ve backed out like a loser, so I just did it. But I still wanna say this to your face, or what little I can see of it in the dark: you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I was too chickenshit to say it myself, and no one else would’ve been able to either, so you did it. Considering you’re the only person I’ve told, at least for the next four weeks until I have to tell it all again to a camera, you had every right. So stop beating yourself up about it. If anything, I think my father’s in love with you, though Maman will probably piss herself if she sees you again in the next fifteen years, so just shut up, okay? No one’s mad. Scared, maybe, because you spooked them I think, but not mad._”

Kurt just breathes for a long time, letting the words sink in as the black lump in his throat slowly fades away. When he feels a bit less on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he wipes his eyes free of lingering wetness and clears his throat before he agrees, “Okay. I’ll shut up about it then.”

Sebastian smiles, wider now that his lip is mostly healed, and then spins around in his chair. Kurt can see the rest of his eerily immaculate room now that his eyes aren’t glued to Sebastian’s face, and truthfully, if Kurt hadn’t put him in his bed a few weeks ago and seen a few Dalton blazers in Sebastian’s closet, he would think that the room is displayed for an open house or something.

“_Tell me something_,” Sebastian says. “_I’m bored and I don’t want to do my Spring Break homework, so entertain me or I’m hanging up on you again_.”

Kurt drawls, “Oh, what a travesty for me,” earning a grin from the slowly spinning boy, and then, because it’s Sebastian who Kurt’s talking to right now and Kurt really needs to just vent to someone impartial (kind of...maybe), Kurt says airily, “Blaine’s acting weird, and I’m torn between beating him with a baseball bat or running off to Cabo to get eloped.”

Sebastian stops spinning in his chair so the full effect of a single eyebrow rising nearly to his hairline can be seen. “_O...kay?_” Sebastian says hesitantly. “_There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I don’t even know where to start, especially since Blainers was a topic not up for discussion last week, so I’ll just go with what in the _fuck_?_”

Kurt can’t help but laugh, even though he can hear the hysterical tinge in it. When he finally gets a hold of himself, he says truthfully, “I don’t know either. The whole situation is just bizarre, and the only people that I can talk to are friends of us both, so it’ll inevitably get back to him, and I’m not going to talk to my _dad_ about this, so you are the unlucky sounding board for the moment. Just don’t tell Blaine anything I’m about to tell you or I’ll do something horrible, like follow you around when you’re trying to get laid, screaming about how you gave me chlamydia.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes slightly at that last bit, but replies, “_Well, I’m probably not going to be any help with your stupid boyfriend problems, and I don’t even talk to Blaine anymore, but I suppose this is the least I can do so okay, shoot._”

Kurt huffs, more out of bewilderment over the whole Blaine situation itself rather than exasperation at Sebastian’s words, and says, “Okay. Well. Even though this is a terrible idea because you’ll use this against me until the end of time, I’m going to take you up on that. So, first off, Blaine and I broke up.”

This time both of Sebastian’s eyebrows rise up, and he says incredulously, “_Huh? The prodigal couple of rainbows and butterflies isn’t a thing anymore? Why haven’t I heard about this?_”

“Clearly you don’t keep up with show choir gossip circles,” Kurt says dryly.

Sebastian scoffs. “_Of course not, because I apparently have a _life_._”

Kurt chooses to ignore that, as Kurt secretly thinks Sebastian has a point and doesn’t want him that give Sebastian the satisfaction of proving him right. Kurt still doesn’t understand why he’s still so emotionally invested in the drama, because even though he has nothing but fond memories of his makeshift high school family (mostly), he’s still a university student now, and it _is_ kind of sad that he keeps getting sucked into it all despite being half a country away and not knowing half of the new New Directions’ members anyway. Instead, Kurt steels himself for the inevitable jibes coming his way and says, “Yeah, we did. He cheated on me about two months after I came out to New York, said that I was distant and not there when he needed me. I know I was a distracted with my job and I wasn’t giving him the attention he needed, but it’s still not an excuse and he hasn’t really apologised for it yet.”

“_Well, I can’t say I’m surprised_,” Sebastian says flatly, and then instantly raises his hands when Kurt inhales sharply and inflates with defensive anger, though Kurt can’t help but wonder in the back of his head if Sebastian can _see_ Kurt winding up or if it’s just instinct. “_No, hear me out,_” Sebastian interjects and when Kurt reluctantly and stiffly nods, utterly silent and his fingers gripping his mobile so hard that he hears the plastic protective case creak, Sebastian says, “_I’d pegged Blaine as a cheater pretty much the second I met him. How could you miss that? You’re smart and generally pretty perceptive, as far as I’ve seen over our _illustrious_ history anyway, so I’d always figured you’d pegged him for it too and went out with him anyway, either because you’re a glutton for punishment or because you thought you’d fit together regardless of the glaring red flags_.”

Kurt blinks, because he hadn’t expected that, but he’s still tense half-defensively. Slowly, he asks in a flat voice, “What does that mean?”

Sebastian shrugs, grimaces at the movement, and gently rubs at his ribs absently as he answers in a matter-of-fact tone, “_C’mon, the first time I met him, he didn’t tell me he had a boyfriend, blushed and soaked up my compliments like a bashful gay coming alive from the attention, invited me out for coffee, and only told me that he was in a relationship about three-point-two seconds before you approached our table. It was practically orchestrated. He’s needy, a total attention whore, has this constant need to be desirable to everyone he comes into contact with, can’t stomach the thought of not being an alpha gay even when he’s clearly the total opposite, and he absolutely has to be in a relationship that focusses solely on him to survive. People like Blaine always cheat the second their partners don’t devote one hundred percent of their time and energy into them, or lose the spotlight because of their partner. He’s pretty much Maman with a penis, so I knew that he’d give in one day; it’s part of the reason why I flirted with him so often, actually, because I knew that the second you didn’t give him what he needed, he’d be in someone’s bed, and why not mine, y’know? Sounds like shit, but hey, at least I’m being honest here._”

Every word out of Sebastian’s mouth is like a punch to the gut, because Kurt _knows_ all of this. He’s _always_ known. From Blaine miraculously being ‘moved’ by Kurt just as Kurt had started feeling disillusioned by the displayed perfection that was Blaine Anderson, to his subliminal push for Danny in _West Side Story_ when Kurt was the _only_ other person auditioning (and he had _needed_ it for NYADA), to his hypocrisy about the (admittedly wrong on Kurt’s part) texts with Chandler when what Sebastian had been doing at literally _the same time_ had been a thousand times worse, to his explanation about cheating with Eli without a hint of genuine apology...yes, Kurt’s always known all of these things about Blaine, and he had pushed so much of himself into that relationship because of it. He knows it.

But it’s not as easy as just getting over Blaine and moving on. With the exception of Chandler (who had essentially been Kurt on a caffeine drip), David (who had been focussing in on Kurt just because he had been the only gay guy David knew), and Adam (who had been sweet but just as needy as Blaine, which had constantly gotten in the way of them getting into a more serious relationship), there’s never been another person that had ever shown an interest in Kurt. And to be honest, Kurt’s always been a bit smug that this desirable, gorgeous guy had decided to date _Kurt_ of all people, instead of a guy more on his level: handsome, talented...someone who can easily pass as _normal_ and _straight_.

And because of that, Kurt gave _everything_ to his relationship with Blaine. He apologised when he should’ve fought, backed down when he should’ve stood up for himself, and while Kurt’s always been driven and determined to accomplish his dreams in New York, he’s always put Blaine first in his life. Yeah, Kurt knows he should’ve been more attentive, and listened to Blaine more, but there’s only so much that Kurt can give before he should expect some reciprocation, right?

But even so, Kurt knows that if Blaine had wholeheartedly apologised for cheating with Eli without making it out like it was solely Kurt’s fault, Kurt would probably still be in a relationship with him, albeit with significantly less trust.

It’s because Kurt knows that Blaine’s the only chance he’s going to get at a long-term relationship. Yes, Kurt’s in New York, and he fits in a lot better here, but he’s still not worth much to gay guys even in the Big Apple. He’s still too flamboyant, and too bitchy, and too stereotypical, and Blaine’s the handsomest, most perfect person that Kurt’s ever met – it’s not going to get any better than Blaine Devon Anderson for Kurt. And maybe it’s sad that he’s meant to be with a guy who’s always going to be first, who’s always going to be better, who’s always going to deserve more, but Kurt’s lucky, because he’s found the perfect, desirable guy who actually wants to be with him, who actually _wants_ to invest in a forever with someone like Kurt Hummel.

So what if he has to give his all without any hope of complete reciprocation? Blaine reciprocates in some ways, after all, and it’s more than enough that Kurt’s going to get a forever with someone like Blaine.

Kurt deflates, and he ruthlessly crushes down the little part of himself that’s screaming.

“Yeah, I know all of that about Blaine,” Kurt says, his tone carefully nonchalant and light and praying that Sebastian can’t hear right through it. “He’s worth it though.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes so hard his head even rotates. “_That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,_” he states wryly, giving the computer screen the most unamused expression Kurt’s ever seen on Sebastian’s face before. “_I’m not the most qualified person to say this, obviously, but he kind of treated you like shit. You both treated each other like shit, actually. Maybe he’s that good in bed that it’s worth a lifetime of being miserable, but I think you’re both idiots, and if you end up getting hitched, you’re _both_ going to wake up when you’re eighty and hate yourselves, if you even make it that long. I’ve seen a lot of people in relationships, including my parents, and there’s no such thing as a perfect, faerie tale romance: it takes work, compatibility, and negotiation to stick it with someone for the rest of your lives, and the only thing the two of you have working for you is the work, and that’s because you are, in fact, a masochist with severe self-esteem issues since you do all the work by yourself. But right now you’re both too goddamn young, and I personally think you both need to figure out what you actually want in life and how to be happy by yourselves before you tie each other down. I’m not saying you should party and sleep around, because that’s not for everyone, but at least adult a little before you re-evaluate your options._”

Kurt feels incredibly uncomfortable now, because Sebastian sounds identical to that screaming voice in his head, so he hastily says, “Okay, I think I’m done talking about this now, if you don’t mind.”

Sebastian sighs with exasperation, but acquiesces with a drawn out, sing-songy “_Fine_” that sounds more sarcastic than anything. Then he sighs again and says, “_Sorry, but you’ve known since the first day you met me that I’m blunt and don’t play into dumb displays just to make people feel better about themselves or their situations. You should’ve known that you wouldn’t like what I had to say, so I’m not going to apologise for it._”

Kurt exhales, closing his eyes and trying to ease the tight, unpleasant feeling in his chest, and replies quietly, “I know. You don’t have to apologise. You are just working off what you’ve seen and heard—” Though it’s too close for comfort, and Kurt knows Sebastian’s making a lot of the same points his brain’s been bellowing about for two years which is...disconcerting. Sebastian’s never really been an active spectator in Kurt and Blaine’s relationship, so if it’s that obvious to an outsider like Sebastian, then what does that say about the relationship in general? “—so I can’t blame you. I just want to stop talking about it.”

“_Okay,_” Sebastian agrees calmly.

Before Sebastian can get another bright idea and ask another question that’ll be just as uncomfortable for Kurt, Kurt says, “So, tell me about your family. What’re they like? Hell, what’re their _names_?”

And somehow, they spend the next four hours talking simultaneously about nothing and yet everything.

* * *

Sebastian becomes one of his best friends in almost no time at all.

His inner seventeen-year-old self is shrieking at the development, naturally, but it’s been two years since that initial meeting in the Lima Bean and he can’t be bothered to care. It’s almost simple to fall into the give-and-take of their friendship, to his own surprise, but in the span of almost three weeks, it’s like he’s found a piece of his internal puzzle in Sebastian, and though he was serious when telling Sebastian that the jerk was stuck with him for the rest of his natural life, now it doesn’t feel like an obligation or necessity but instead an inevitability and a relief.

There’s something about Sebastian that just fits, somehow, like there was a hole in him somewhere that Sebastian slots into perfectly like a key. Kurt has a lot of close friends, some that he would even consider family, like Rachel, Santana, Mercedes, and in a weird way Puck, but there’s no one in his life that simply _fits_ like Sebastian does.

It’s just that Sebastian speaks Kurt’s language. They both have similar senses of humour (though Sebastian’s is more vulgar and Kurt’s is more dry), use sarcasm as a communication device, don’t hold back from using their tongues to wage war on each other or someone else, and are both generally pessimistic. At the same time, they also can talk on the mobile for hours about anything and everything, or can simply be on speaker while they both go quietly about their business, not bored in the slightest. Kurt’s strong in places where Sebastian’s weak and vice versa – Sebastian is blunt, vulgar, stubborn, socially constipated, sexual, and full to the absolute brim with issues, but Kurt has his own idiosyncrasies like a lack of self-esteem, unrealistic romantic notions, pride, determination, and his own compilation of issues – so they round each other out really well. Sebastian can be borderline mean when offering opinions or giving advice, but so can Kurt, and though it ruffles their collective feathers, they always end up talking through it later.

Like the Blaine issue. Kurt had refused to talk about Blaine on that first night in the hotel room, and had shut the tentative conversation down when it had popped up during their first video chat, but Sebastian’s eerily familiar words had haunted his brain for days until Kurt just sent a huge, long, rambling e-mail to Sebastian that had poured out of him like a geyser. And, instead of talking about it on the mobile or through FaceTime, Sebastian had instinctively known that Kurt would probably shut down actually _verbalising_ it and instead had e-mailed back, until they had their normal texts and video calls on one end and then the lengthy e-mail conversation about personal relationships on the other (though not once do they see each other in person except through the screen of a mobile or computer, Kurt watching Sebastian heal through a lens).

It’s weird, knowing that his ex-nemesis for Blaine’s attention and affections knows about Blaine and Kurt’s fights about sex and intimacy (that had been scheduled, for fuck’s sake), or about how Kurt really wishes he had someone to fight for _him_ for once...or that Sebastian knows about Kurt’s fear that he’s in love with the _idea_ of a relationship with Blaine, rather than Blaine himself.

Just as he does with the rest of their conversations, Sebastian reciprocates about his own relationships and sex life too, even without being asked. He tells Kurt about his commitment issues and how he had a casual friends-with-benefits relationship with a guy from Ohio State and then freaked out when the guy said that he loved Sebastian out of the blue. He tells Kurt about the guys he’s picked up, things in bed that he likes and doesn’t, and how there was one guy at a bar in Cincinnati who slipped him rohypnol but didn’t get the chance to act on it, because the group of people Sebastian had been with had noticed immediately, getting Sebastian home safe.

And he talks about Juppé.

He talks about the good moments: how he used to twirl Sebastian around the sitting room singing at the top of his lungs while Sebastian laughed; how he used to listen patiently when Sebastian raged about idiots at school or the pointlessness of his grammar lessons when all he wanted to do was dissect worms in science class; how Nicolas looked in his sophisticated clothes, tall and unbearably handsome, with his thick dark hair and chocolate brown eyes; and even how he used to make Sebastian shudder in pleasure for literally hours in the days and years before the pain started. He talks about the bad moments as well though, even if he doesn’t go into _graphic_ detail about the systematic rape: how he didn’t like it when Sebastian was quiet; how angry he would get when Sebastian snapped at his maman, hating how she took up so much of Nicolas’s time, though he was never physically abusive (other than the rape itself of course); how he looked at Sebastian near the end, just as Sebastian was hitting puberty, like it was a chore to even acknowledge his existence.

By the end of Kurt’s Spring Break, a mere two days before he leaves for New York, Kurt realises that there’s literally no one on the face of the planet who knows Kurt better than Sebastian Smythe, not even Kurt’s dad, and that it’s a mutual realisation.

Neither one of them mind.

* * *

Kurt stares at the bustle of the outdoor area at McKinley, sat next to Blaine and so strangely uncomfortable.

They’ve finished eating the lunch Blaine’s prepared, full of healthy finger foods and then the delectable chocolate torte for afters, talking easily despite Kurt’s awkwardness. It’s always been easy to talk to Blaine, about fashion and music and their families, and that hasn’t changed despite the issues – Kurt and Blaine have always been able to communicate well when it comes to the skin-deep things.

Kurt knows the appeal for a relationship is coming though. He can see it in Blaine’s eyes, every time that hazel-brown gaze looks at him (which is often), and he is so conflicted, because Blaine is beautiful and charming and sweet and the closest thing to perfect Kurt’s ever going to get in his life. It makes him think about their future, the good times that will happen at least: the duets and the cuddles and the coffee shop dates and the _sex_, and Kurt wants it more than anything, to just give in to Blaine’s puppy dog eyes and just fall back into their relationship like nothing bad has happened between them.

But it’s not that simple. It’s not. The little voice in his head – that used to sound like himself at fifteen-and sixteen-years-old, pre-Blaine, but now sounds like Sebastian – has been screaming non-stop since Kurt accepted the invitation for a picnic with Blaine, and the things it says are chilling and bone-deep. Everything he’s thought since the day they started dating, things that have been adding to a pile of discomfort and unhappiness for two years, and those thoughts have been brought to life by verbalisation, by late night conversations between Kurt and Sebastian.

A large part of him wants to give in, but an equally large part wants to run away and never look back.

“So, you excited to go back to school?” Blaine asks with a glint in his eyes that Kurt recognises as careful steering, and he knows right then that they’re having the belated conversation that’s been stewing for months now.

Airily, his eyes darting between Blaine’s own, Kurt replies, “Yeah. Fashion week is coming up.” He hesitates for a split second, and then adds, “But this farewell picnic’s been perfect though.” The screaming gets louder, almost to the point of distraction, because this picnic _hasn’t_ been perfect. He’s eaten a lovely lunch with the perfect guy, but he’s still at _McKinley_, still stagnant at this damned school when he should be living his life in New York with high school nothing but a fond memory, and he’s _so_ uncomfortable. He’s never been uncomfortable like this with Blaine, because despite awkwardness and anger and betrayal and defeat, things have always been comfortable at least. They’re too good of friends to truly be uncomfortable, even during the bad times.

Kurt doesn’t like feeling uncomfortable. It makes him feel like his skin is crawling, and he _hates_ it.

Blaine pauses as well, and then asks point-blank, “What’s the story with this New York guy?”

Because there’s no reason to lie, Kurt explains, “There’s no story. He was nice and people liked the idea of us as a couple, but it never got serious.” Of course it hadn’t, because Adam _had_ been nice and attractive and even selfless in some ways, but he had also been Blaine 2.0: needy and clingy and jealous of everything, not to the extent of Blaine but too close for comfort.

Kurt watches the expression on Blaine’s face darken at the thought of Kurt with another guy, and Kurt just can’t take it anymore. “Alright, let me break it down for you. Alright, the last time we tried dating when I was in New York and you were here, you _cheated_ on me.”

“I—” Blaine starts, but Kurt just shakes his head slightly, his palms beginning to dig into the hard cement because he’s too tense, too on edge, too _uncomfortable_. He practically spits out, “Unacceptable.”

Blaine interrupts, “We’ve been through this.” He backs away slightly, swinging his hands around to emphasise his point and looking close to tears, though his eyes are dry. “I thought you were done with me. I thought it was over. I thought I was completely out of the picture in your life.” He points at himself, eyes begging for Kurt to just listen, and says in a pleading tone, “Look at me in the eyes when I say this. I’m being _beyond_ serious. I will never, ever..._ever_ cheat on you again.”

The screaming is so loud, screaming that sounds like Kurt _and_ Sebastian, and it consumes every other thought he might’ve had. The only thing he can think is _that’s not an apology it’s an excuse, we’ve been here before, we’ve been apart for a few months before and you spread your legs for another guy within _weeks_, we’ve been here and done this, and I’m even more busy with NYADA than I was with Vogue and it’s only going to happen again because I can’t devote every second of my life to you and _only_ you when I have my own life to live halfway across the country_.

And Kurt knows he can’t do this, not right now at least.

The screaming cuts off, like it’s been sliced at the throat, and he can feel his heart breaking, because he might be blowing his only chance to have the perfect man for the rest of his life. The words heavy and thick in his throat, Kurt says honestly, “I can’t do this.” Blaine recoils away from him like Kurt’s slapped him round the face, and Kurt flinches himself at the sight, but he forces himself to continue, “I’m sorry, but I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. You broke my trust, Blaine, and while you might never cheat on me again, I can’t know for certain. I can’t do this with you again, always feeling afraid that you’ll find someone that can devote one hundred percent to you, and I’m so busy all the time in New York. I’m afraid that we’ll find ourselves resenting each other if the cycle starts all over again.”

Blaine’s crying for real now, his fingers clenching into his own shirt above his heart and stretching the fabric, and Kurt says truthfully, “I love you Blaine. I really, really do, and I told you that I would never say goodbye to you. I know you love me too, and if you love me, then you’ll understand that I just need some time.” He sighs and reaches out a tentative hand, relieved when Blaine takes it with both of his to twine their fingers together despite the eyes of high schoolers on them. “Look, you’ll be in New York in June,” Kurt tells him quietly. “That’s more than enough time to get our heads on straight, and then you’ll be with me in the city and I won’t have to worry anymore.” Except Kurt knows he’ll worry for the rest of his life if he ends up with Blaine. “If you still love me in June, then I promise we can be boyfriends again, but right now I don’t want to take the chance of us hating each other over the separation. Please, if you love me, just give me this. _Please_.”

“I—” Blaine chokes out, tears still dripping down his cheeks and looking so devastated that Kurt wants to just lie and say that he’s joking, that _of course_ they can be boyfriends again and live happily ever after. But he doesn’t, sitting quietly with Blaine’s hands covering his own, and Blaine manages to get out, “I _love_ you, Kurt. If...if this is what you want, then...I...yes, I can do that. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, and I can wait two more months if that’s what you need.”

Kurt breathes, “Thank you, Blaine. _Thank you_. I love you so much.”

Blaine gives him a small, brittle, watery smile and the sun seems a little brighter.

* * *

Kurt heads back to New York without any fanfare.

He gets a lot of quiet time, to his surprise, as Santana’s working quite a bit and constantly with that Dani girl she’s dating, and Rachel is working as well while constantly auditioning for other stage roles just in case. Kurt doesn’t know if he likes the sudden quiet, since he’s been surrounded by noise since...well, since he started Glee as a Sophomore, really. So when he’s not at Vogue and not in classes, he spends a lot of time just walking Brooklyn’s neighbourhoods, finding little niches where he can soak up the sounds of the city around him so he can feel less adrift.

He talks to his dad a lot, and the rest of his friends as well – he finds it strange that he hasn’t really branched out of the high school friends he’s made, hasn’t made new connections at NYADA or Vogue, and he applies for a job at Santana and Rachel’s diner just to put himself out there a little more. It’s good practise at least, and it’s a good way to showcase himself, considering people like the producer of Funny Girl apparently eat at the Spotlight. If anything, he can put himself out there outside of NYADA, though perhaps he should start thinking about auditioning for the stage like Rachel’s been.

He holds off on that though. He wants to graduate university first, because he knows that once he starts auditioning and gets callbacks, he’ll pull a Rachel and become consumed. After everything he’s been through just to get into NYADA in the first place, and knowing that his dad wants to see him with a diploma one day, he’s determined to graduate before he starts really putting himself out there. Broadway isn’t going anywhere after all, and Kurt will only get more experience and connections the longer he’s at the prestigious school. He so dearly wants to graduate, and that’s his primary focus right now.

Though he’s still _definitely_ starting a band.

Life is good, albeit a little lonely, until the mobile call.

It’s one of the rare days where the three of them aren’t at some combination of work or school, and they’ve been happily bitching at _America’s Next Top Model_ for the better part of three hours. They’re all twitchy with caffeine from Kurt’s espresso machine and can’t stop laughing at Santana’s scathing remarks regarding manufactured drama of aspiring models. The floor is absolutely littered with popcorn as they’ve been throwing it at the telly since starting the binge, and beside the half-empty lattes on the coffee table, there’s open containers of Chinese food and little fortunes sticking out of duck sauce.

Kurt doesn’t hear his mobile vibrate at first, and it takes Santana throwing it lightly in his lap with a half-hearted one-liner for him to even notice that he’s getting a call. He smiles at the sight of his dad’s contact picture, and stands up, answering the call with a giggly “Hey Dad!” as he starts to walk to his partitioned room for a bit more quiet.

And then stops in his tracks, because his dad is crying, and Kurt knows something is horribly wrong.

* * *

Kurt hates funerals.

He hates having to dress in a fine suit when all he wants to do is curl into a ball in sweatpants, never leaving his cold, dark room until the pain fades into something more manageable. He hates seeing all of the people attending, also dressed up and crying quietly as the priest says rites. He hates the looks of sad pity from the people attending, as if he’s going to break in front of them instead of in the safe privacy of his own home. He hates the length of them, having to stay somewhat composed when all he wants to do is cry himself to sleep. He hates the spectacle of it, of having this elaborate affair of echoing sadness and grief.

But most of all, he hates that he’s outlived another person in his family. He knows that it won’t be the last, that one day he’ll have to bury his dad and Carole like he had to bury his mother, and might have to bury his other family members (Rachel, Santana, Mercedes, Sebastian, Puck, _Blaine_) and who knows who else. Death is an inevitable part of the human experience, but it still hurts, because Finn Christopher Hudson is (_was_) younger than Kurt, and will now forever be nineteen, nothing more than a fond, but painful memory in their hearts.

Kurt hates funerals, but he hates Finn’s senseless, eerily familiar death even more.

* * *

Kurt’s been at the Ferguson reservoir for hours when he appears.

His suit is ruined from the water, mud, and rocks he’s sat on, and his shoes are scuffed and scraped beyond repair, but still he sits, body cold in the pre-summer chill that nights get sometimes. His fingers dig absently into the dirt and rocks, occasionally forgotten as he stares out at the water dotted with the lights of the city and stars, and he doesn’t really notice when the rocks and broken glass cut into his skin, or when his fingernails turn brown with mud and jagged from digging. It’s soothing in a way, out here alone, with nothing but old, familiar Lima surrounding him with the whispers of memory.

Somewhere around this reservoir, Finn and Rachel had sung a song for Kurt’s dad, when he was in hospital from the heart attack. About where Kurt’s sat, Finn and Kurt came out here so Finn could skip rocks as they talked about him breaking up with Rachel so she could fly free in New York. Once, Kurt’s dad had bribed Kurt into a ‘family bonding’, where Finn and Burt had fished in the reservoir and gulped down root beer while Carole and Kurt lounged on a blanket, chatting about the merits of denim.

This reservoir is filled with ghosts, just as Lima itself is filled with ghosts, and Kurt wants to run away.

Sebastian sits down beside Kurt, close enough for Kurt to be aware of his presence but carefully not touching him. Kurt can see him out of the corner of his eye in the moonlight, but mercifully Sebastian doesn’t speak, simply looking out over the water like Kurt is. For what feels like days, the two of them just watch the small ripples in the water from the wind, the glitter of lights across its surface, the flickering lights from aeroplanes flying in the sky, not saying a word and simply existing.

Kurt can’t help but appreciate the silence. He’s been at the waterside since the late morning funeral, and a steady trickle of people have attempted to get him fed and home into warm, clean clothes. The only people who haven’t tried are Kurt’s dad, who is needed at Carole’s side a thousand times more than Kurt’s, and Rachel, who’s almost comatose with grief and had to be carried out of the reception by one of her dads when it had simply become too much to bear. None of the others have been successful in getting Kurt to leave the waterside, because Kurt feels both close to Finn here as well as distant from more painful memories, and he can’t bear the thought of leaving this place and the state of limbo it’s put him in.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been sat by the cold, rough, wet waterside, but he becomes aware of Sebastian shivering, not able to hide it. Kurt turns his head slowly in Sebastian’s direction and lets his heavy eyes take in Sebastian’s form – jean trousers soaked on the bottom from the wet ground, wearing only a light jacket over a thin shirt, still too gaunt and unable to retain body heat because of it – before he exhales softly and says into the late-night silence, “You’re going to get sick out here, Sebastian.”

Sebastian doesn’t take his eyes off the water when he replies, his voice shaking just as much as his body with cold, “I’ve been colder and wetter, so don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine, and I’m not leaving anyway.”

Kurt doesn’t know how to respond to that (because of course Sebastian has), and he’s silent for a long time before he says in a dull, even tone, “It was a car accident, just like Mum. Died instantly though, so I suppose that’s a mercy. His dormmate said he was going to get Hot Pockets from the grocers. Hot Pockets. Isn’t that unbelievable? He goes to get Hot Pockets and ends up in a grave in Memorial Park.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond, just watches the water and shivers, and Kurt feels something warm in his chest for the first time since the call that tore his world to pieces. It almost surprises Kurt, because he’s been so cold and numb since hearing the news of Finn’s accident, and he doesn’t know what to think about this little spark of life in his body. Out of the dozen people that’ve tried to get him to eat, to sleep, to go home, to _do something_, Sebastian’s the only one who’s simply let him be.

They’ve only been friends for almost two months, and yet Sebastian understands on a basic, intrinsic level what Kurt needs right now: someone who will let him be alone with his thoughts and ghosts, but is a quiet, solid presence regardless.

Distantly, as if from a very long, cold tunnel, Kurt wonders if he’s going to end up falling in love with this boy—no, this man – and then the thought fades. That’s something Future Kurt gets to worry about, not Present Kurt, because he doesn’t have room in his broken heart right now to think about anything but Finn and Finn’s shattered, destroyed mother right now.

Kurt takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over Sebastian’s thin shoulders, much more physically capable of handling the light chill, and then sits pressed against Sebastian’s side, giving him Kurt’s warmth as much as he can. It’s the least he can do while they both sit out here, watching the water and pressed together, Kurt trying to build up his fragile fortitude until he feels capable of facing a world without Finn Hudson and Sebastian simply waiting patiently for that moment to come.

They watch the sun rise together.

* * *

Kurt calls Sebastian first.

His tongue is thick in his mouth, and the skin of his left shoulder still throbs a bit, but he hops on his bed and pulls his laptop close to him so he can Skype Sebastian regardless. He hasn’t even told Sebastian (or anyone except Rachel, actually) that he’s even _gotten_ a tattoo yet, mostly because he had been so insistent once finding out that it was misspelled that he needed to yell at the artist and get it taken care of.

It rings for a bit before Sebastian answers, clad in his Dalton uniform sans blazer and with his homework spread out over the bedspread. In the corner, he can see his dormmate, Stephen, working on his own homework, but Stephen waves at Kurt’s image and then pats around for his mobile so he can pop in his headphones to give them privacy.

“_Hey, loser_,” Sebastian greets with a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement even through the pixilation of the connection. Dalton had always had horrible wifi connection in the dorms, mostly because of the boys hooking up their game consoles and stealing all the bandwidth for their online gaming.

Kurt bites the bullet and lisps out, “Hey, ‘Bastian.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow and asks with a laugh, “_Oh my God, are you drunk_?”

Kurt shakes his head at the camera of his laptop, bites his bottom lip hesitantly, and then grins, sticking out his tongue and letting the little silver barbell in his swollen tongue wiggle at the screen.

Sebastian chokes, covering his mouth with wide eyes, and he crowds close to the screen so he can get a closer look, so Kurt obligingly wiggles his tongue closer to the camera. All Kurt can see is Sebastian’s forehead as he exclaims with a surprised laugh, “_Holy shit! You got your _tongue_ pierced?! Wow, what in the actual fuck?!_”

Kurt laughs delightedly at Sebastian’s awed tone, and says in the same thick voice, “Yeah, kinda insane, right? I got a tattoo too; wanna see?”

“_Obviously, you fuckin’ idiot, c’mon!_”

Kurt pulls back, unbuttoning his shirt as he explains, “Rachel and I just decided to drink this horrible stuff that tasted like lighter fluid and lemons and get tattoos. Rachel chickened out, but I got mine last night. Get this though: it was misspelled.” Sebastian barks out a laugh, falling onto his homework as he curls into himself from the force of it. Kurt continues with a self-deprecating smile, “I know, isn’t it horrible? Anyway, I went this afternoon to tear the guy a new one and turns out that I’m the one who misspelled it, because I was kind of drunk, and anyway, he offered to fix it and pierce my tongue for good measure, and what the hell, I just _did it_. I’ve never done anything that spontaneous or _permanent_ before, so I’m still a bit high on adrenaline, but I actually kind of like the tattoo now and I can always take the piercing out if I don’t like it.” He pulls down the fabric on his shoulder and turns towards the camera, edging as close to the lens as he can as he says, “It was supposed to say ‘It gets better’, but I accidentally wrote ‘It’s get better’, so he fiddled with it and now it says ‘It’s got Bette Midler’. It makes no sense and _all_ of the sense and I really kind of love it. Rachel can’t stop laughing though, kinda like you right now.”

Which is true. It actually looks like Sebastian is crying, he’s laughing so hard, and Kurt can see the veins in his forehead popping out as his face goes pink. Kurt can’t help but laugh too, around his swollen tongue, and they spend a few minutes just sniggering to each other, Kurt at his delight to see Sebastian so happy and amused for the moment (when he usually looks carefully calm or melancholic, especially now that graduation is looming and every day is a step closer to Paris), and Sebastian clearly tickled by Kurt’s almost-disastrous body modification.

“_This is _gold_, Kurt Hummel, oh my God,_” Sebastian wheezes when he’s slightly in better control over himself, face flushed and green eyes almost sparkling through the video.

“I’m glad that I can be a source of your amusement,” Kurt replies dryly, though the effect is lost because of the small smile on Kurt’s lips and his thick voice.

“_Shut up,_” Sebastian snarks with a grin, wiping his eyes from the moisture of his laughing fit. “_You could’ve just got something to cover it up. Like a dragon on a pile of gold or something_.”

Kurt snickers. “A dragon? God, you really need to stop reading so much Tolkien, else what little you have for a brain is going to leak out of your oversized ears.”

Sebastian gasps mockingly, hand clasping his heart in a sardonic tease. “_But buttercup! I have to _prepare_!_”

Kurt rolls his eyes. Sebastian’s a surprising fan of Tolkien’s legendarium, Kurt’s discovered, and with the first of the two _Hobbit_ movies coming out in December, he’s been rather excited about it. Kurt only likes the man candy (because Legolas and Aragorn are both to die for, especially _together_, and _yum_, yes please) in the movies and he’s only watched the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy once, when he was younger, but Sebastian’s utterly obsessed with the universe. Kurt doesn’t mind him going off on long-winded tangents about elves and hobbits and dwarves (which Sebastian resolutely calls ‘dwarrows’, sneering at anyone who articulates differently), because it’s one of the few subjects that really makes Sebastian light up, and God knows that Sebastian needs all of the distractions and happy excitement he can get for a future past the upcoming trial in France.

Kurt listens to the ramble about _The Hobbit_ for a while, interjecting when he feels like chiming in, and not even surprised when Sebastian decides that they’re both going to see it in theatres without asking first and just nodding complacently. It’s a tantalising glimpse into their future as friends, past all of the pain and fear that’s coming up in late August, and he’s more than happy to acquiesce, because he’ll get more eye candy _and_ he’ll get to see Sebastian flail like a total dork afterwards.

It’s surprising that Sebastian can be a nerd in some ways, though he’s the stereotypical promiscuous jock to his peers. Kurt knows Sebastian is a lot more than that, that he’s a real person underneath the walls, but being real doesn’t negate the fact that Sebastian genuinely likes sports and sex and drinking and all that ‘guy stuff’. He just has a few more layers underneath too.

Then Sebastian runs out of steam, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare show of unsureness, and Kurt’s already intrigued. Still, he waits patiently while Sebastian puts together his thoughts, absently rubbing the barbell against his teeth despite the dull throb of soreness it brings.

“_So what’re you doing this summer?_” Sebastian finally asks, nonchalantly looking at his homework and twirling a black mechanical pencil with his fingers.

Kurt cocks an eyebrow, not sure where this is going. “Besides dragging you to this Mediterranean place I found in Midwood, letting you drag _me_ to a club as promised so I can humiliate myself, and generally just annoying you as much as possible while you’re here? Mostly just dealing with the people in my life and working. Why?”

Sebastian sighs, shrugs, and says slowly without making eye contact (as much as one _can_ make eye contact through Skype, anyway), “_Uh, my father _might_ have bought you a plane ticket to Paris._”

Kurt’s jaw drops. Naturally. “What?!” he practically screeches, heart pounding with something he can’t identify at the moment.

Sebastian cringes a bit, eyes staring a metaphorical hole into his pages of homework, and says, “_Well, he just told me this morning, and I was going to tell you eventually, but...yeah. I mean, you don’t have to go, obviously, and I’ll probably be shit company, but I figured I’d let you know in advance anyway. Y’know, so, like, if you did decide to go, you’d have time to get a passport or prepare a pretentious wardrobe or whatever. Look, never mind, I’ll just—_”

“Wait,” Kurt interjects, and Sebastian’s eyes flicker up once before he refocuses on his homework again. When Sebastian doesn’t continue his ramble, mouth shut in a firm line, Kurt says, “I would love to go—” Sebastian looks up again, face surprisingly open, but averts his eyes once more when Kurt continues, “—but I live off-dorms in New York. I...” Kurt hates admitting this, but it’s true, and Kurt doesn’t know how he would even be able to go to Paris with Sebastian, even if he actually _really_ wants to. And not only because it’s freakin’ _Paris_. Kurt would legitimately cut off his legs to go with Sebastian, to support (or distract) him during the two weeks he’ll be in Paris for the trials, and it aches that he can’t go. “I can’t afford to just go to France without probably a good year of saving, Sebastian. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Sebastian finally looks up for good, face relieved, which is weird in Kurt’s opinion. Had he not wanted Kurt to go? “_Oh. If it’s the money part you’re worried about, then stop freaking out. It’s not like we would spontaneously buy you a plane ticket and then expect you to just blow a bunch of dosh on all of the particulars. All you’d need is spending money – everything else’ll be taken care of._”

Kurt’s job drops again, though..._okay_, so maybe he should’ve expected this? It’s not like Kurt doesn’t know that money is inconsequential to the Smythes, considering Sebastian’s grown up with loads of it and therefore doesn’t appreciate it like the average person, but still. He can’t, in good conscience, allow them to pay for everything in an expensive country. It just seems wrong, and even though he’d definitely be able to afford the trip if they did, he just can’t stomach the idea of accepting charity like that. He’s never been good at freeloading, preferring to pay for everything that he wants or needs in his life without asking for help. It’s a pride thing, in the end.

As if Sebastian knows where Kurt’s mind is at, he continues easily, “_Think about it. Firstly, the plane ticket is non-refundable, so if you don’t go it’ll just be wasted. Secondly, we’ve already booked hotel rooms in the city, so you can just kip in my room, _or_, if you’re uncomfortable with that, we can just stay at Maman’s new flat, since she has a bedroom for me and a spare. Thirdly, it’s not like we’re going to be eating at five-star restaurants every night, and since my _grands-parents_ are staying in their flat in Paris during everything and my maman lives in the city too, there’s going to be a lot of eating in anyway. And lastly, if you stay away from all the tourist traps, Paris is really easy to play in without blowing thousands of Euros on stupid shit. Besides..._” Sebastian pauses, and then admits quietly with a quick glance at his oblivious roommate, “_It’ll be easier with you there._”

Kurt’s heart is fluttering like mad – because it all sounds methodical and logical when broken down like that, and Kurt has an opportunity to visit the city he’s always dreamt of seeing, and _God_, Sebastian said that it would be _easier_ with Kurt by his side during one of the most difficult and agonising times of his adult life, which touches Kurt so deeply that he can feel it resonating in his _soul_ – and says with a breathy voice despite his lisp, “Well, it sounds like we’re getting lost in Paris.”

The smile Sebastian gives him is the brightest thing he’s ever seen on that face.

* * *

Blaine, Sam, and Artie move out to New York after graduation.

Artie is in the dorms of his university, but Blaine and Sam somehow...move in, which Kurt doesn’t necessarily know how to process. There are just too many people in the flat, and even though they had planned to be in their own place as soon as they found something, it’s been almost two months and Kurt can’t take the lack of space. It’s stifling with so many people in a loft only partitioned with curtains and closet racks and shelves, no privacy and no room to breathe.

Kurt and Blaine have had the obligatory conversation, of course, and while Kurt is still strangely uncomfortable and nervous and unsure, they start dating again, because Kurt _had_ promised and he so dearly loves the dapper man with his romantic serenades and his bottomless collection of bowties. And to be honest, Kurt’s missed sex _so much_, and now that they’re dating again, they’re spending so much time having sex on every available surface of the flat when other people aren’t home. It helps some with the tension, naturally, but it also doesn’t allow them much time to really communicate, something Kurt and Blaine are already notoriously bad at.

So, of course, everything has to blow up.

Kurt brings it up for the umpteenth time, only now he’s feeling a bit worried that Sam won’t be gone in time. It’s already the first of July, and Sebastian arrives in the city on the fourteenth. They’ve already made plans to go out the next day to a club Sebastian’s looked into, as promised, and if Sebastian doesn’t ‘score’ (as he so eloquently put it), then he’ll be crashing at Kurt and Rachel’s place. Sebastian has said consistently that he’s crashed at worse places than a tiny loft in Bushwick filled with New Directions alumni, but Kurt is already cramped in here and one more body who’s likely going to be a persistent guest for the three-ish weeks he’s in New York is filling the loft past capacity. He’s pretty sure it’s a fire hazard anyway.

Kurt wouldn’t mind Sam in the flat, as he’s used to Sam being in his home when he had lived with the Hudmels for a while, but he knows Sam doesn’t even like New York _and_ he’s depressed from the lack of bookings; he’s simply been sitting on the couch in stained clothes, barely even going outside. Kurt’s worried about him, yes, but he’s also a looming cloud in their safe space and he’s always around when Kurt just really wants to know what sex on the kitchen counters feels like.

They’ve just been interrupted from another make out session that had been looking like sex in said kitchen, Sam unapologetic as he burst into the loft grinning about a new video game purchase he’s just made before he goes to shower, and Kurt mutters after a long few minutes trying to compose himself, “Blaine, you have to talk to him about moving out.”

“I know,” Blaine whinges as he makes his way to the cupboard, adjusting his still half-hard cock in his trousers with a slight grimace. “It’s just that he’s so depressed, and I don’t even think he likes it here.”

“He _doesn’t_ like it here,” Kurt huffs, still too turned on to really do anything but be irritated that they’ve been interrupted again. “But that doesn’t change the fact that there are too many people in the loft, and since we’re going to have a periodic house guest for three weeks in a few days, it’s going to be even more crowded if Sam’s here, taking up the couch and the television and refusing to even shower for days at a time.”

Blaine gives him a curious look as he fills up a glass with water. “Who’s visiting this time? Mercedes?”

And oh, that’s right, Kurt hasn’t told Blaine about Sebastian. It’s not like it’s a secret, but it’s just something that hasn’t come up between Kurt and Blaine yet. Rachel and Santana have known about their friendship from pretty much the beginning considering how often they talk or text, and after a yelling match in the sitting area about Sebastian’s past mistakes they had finally acknowledged the friendship and approved of Sebastian coming to stay with him, though Santana’s gone now. Burt and Carole know, as Kurt’s talked about him _and_, by some cosmic joke, Burt’s kind of friends with Theodore Smythe, after Sebastian’s father had cornered Burt at a political fundraiser in Cincinnati a few weeks ago. Even Artie knows. Actually, Kurt’s pretty sure the only people in his close family/friend group that don’t know are Blaine and Sam, and that’s simply because Sam is a package deal with Blaine and Kurt hadn’t really spoken to Blaine until he had moved out to New York.

And of course Blaine’s aware that Kurt talks and texts and video chats a lot, but he’s mostly minded his own business, clearly giving Kurt space. Blaine’s been on his absolute best behaviour since moving in with Kurt, as if he’s worried Kurt will take everything back and they’ll stop dating. He’s had breakfast in bed more often than he can count, and Blaine’s been doting on Kurt to the point of obsessiveness. Kurt’s not sure how much of it is Blaine genuinely trying to make things right, of if he’s just trying a bit too hard to get Kurt to trust him implicitly again so he can go back to being the centre of attention, but Kurt can’t say that he doesn’t appreciate the effort, despite how cloying and smothering it is.

Kurt doesn’t know how this is going to go down, so with a flutter of pre-emptive nerves in his belly, he replies as evenly as he can manage, “Sebastian is coming to New York for three weeks and I’ve offered the couch when he periodically drops by.”

The glass, which Blaine had been bringing to his lips, suddenly slips out of his loose grasp and falls to the floor, shattering into pieces as the water splashes around Blaine’s feet. Kurt gasps, lurching forward in his house slippers with a thin plea for Blaine to stand still, but Blaine doesn’t move, his eyes widened and something dark in his eyes. “Excuse me? Sebastian? As in Sebastian _Smythe_? Please don’t tell me that you’ve invited over the guy who made both of our lives a living hell, drove Karofsky to suicide, and, in case you’ve _conveniently_ forgotten, forced me to get eye surgery when he nearly _blinded_ me with that slushie.”

Kurt’s hand is on the broom, and his fingers clench tightly around the plastic handle once before he turns slowly towards Blaine, a deep thrum of anger starting to pulse in his blood and his eyes hard on his boyfriend. “Yes,” Kurt says in a no-nonsense tone, tensing himself up for a fight, because it’s clear from Blaine’s face and body language that it will indeed be a fight. “I’ve invited him over, and he _is_ coming, whether you like it or not.”

Even though he kind of wants to throw the broom at Blaine’s feet and make him clean up his own mess, he stiffly advances anyway, because Blaine’s barefoot and he’ll cut his feet up if he moves. As he begins sweeping up the wet shards of glass, making a significant effort to be gentle with his movements, Blaine bites out heatedly, “Oh, so now I don’t have a say in what happens in _our_ home? Is Sebastian more important than how _I_ feel about this? I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s okay _at all_, and you need to think really hard about your next words, Kurt, because _I’m_ your boyfriend, and my feelings about this are more important than Sebastian’s.”

Kurt inhales sharply, knuckles white around the handle of the broom, and he hisses, “Of course your feelings matter, but I invited him before we started dating again, and besides, like it or not, Sebastian is one of my best friends, and if I say he can stay while he’s here, then he can stay, and you’re going to accept it or _you_ can find a place to stay for the next three weeks too.”

Blaine gapes at him, utterly furious, and he yells, “Excuse me?! When exactly did you and that _whore_ become friends? Are you _cheating_ on me?!”

Kurt snaps, because that is _not_ okay. He throws down the broom and faces Blaine head-on, hands clenched into fists by his sides and his breathing erratic. “Well, if you took two seconds to stop preening at how attentive you are to my every need, you would’ve realised that Sebastian and I talk constantly, but instead you’re so self-absorbed that all you can focus on is how _wonderful_ you are to me. I don’t mind the attention, Blaine, and I love giving it back to you, but God, you are so _selfish_. We haven’t had a single conversation about our friends, and if you’d take even the smallest initiative and _talk_ to me, you’d already know all of this and wouldn’t be so damned defensive!”

“Well I’m _so_ sorry that I’m just trying to be the perfect boyfriend, Kurt!” Blaine shouts.

“You’re not being perfect; you’re being annoying!” Kurt shrieks back, completely honest.

There’s a surprised silence on both of their sides – Kurt shocked that he even said that out loud, and Blaine clearly staggered and hurt about the words themselves – and then Kurt sighs heavily and forces his tone to soften as he explains, “Blaine, I love you, I really do, but I’m not cheating on you with Sebastian. Sebastian is...he’s going through a really rough patch right now, and I sincerely believe that I’m really the only _actual_ friend he has in his life to talk to about everything that’s going on. I know that there’s bad history between all of us, but _I’ve_ forgiven him for everything, and I’d really appreciate it if you could just support our friendship and just give him a chance too. He can be a jerk, and emotionally constipated, and an absolute pain in the ass, but he’s my friend, and he really needs support right now from anyone willing to give it.”

And because Kurt can’t let it lie, he adds in a hard tone, “Also, I’d _really_ appreciate it if you didn’t slut shame him again, Blaine. That’s just cruel and unjustified. Yes, he sleeps around, but he’s an adult making consensual, safe decisions, and that’s no one’s business but his own. I don’t care if you approve or not, because you’re not his father, and it’s not your place to judge him for what he does in his personal life.”

Blaine breathes heavily for a long moment, big hazel eyes flickering between Kurt’s own glasz ones, and then he says in a calmer, even voice, “How did this even happen?”

Kurt bites his lip and then squats down carefully, picking up the broom and returning to the clean-up. As he works, he replies, “The day that my dad went into remission, I took a walk around the hospital to get a bit of fresh air. Sebastian was outside the ER – he’d been beaten up, and I helped him out, got him home. We’ve been talking ever since.”

It’s a vague explanation, but it’s the truth, and it’s not his place to tell the full story. Unfortunately, despite Kurt praying that Blaine wouldn’t ask, Blaine questions, “What’s going on with him that you think that he needs support or whatever? Just that he was beaten up?”

Kurt hesitates for a second, and then says quietly, “I’m sorry, but that’s not really my story to tell. If Sebastian wants to explain everything—” Which, if Sebastian does, Kurt will literally eat his collection of Marc Jacobs shirts. “—then he’ll do it himself, but I’m not betraying his confidence.”

Blaine’s eyes flash with heat, eyes narrowing in clear suspicion, but though there’s an underlying nastiness in his tone that Kurt does not like, he concedes, “Fine. I’m _not_ happy about this, and I don’t think this is a good idea, but whatever, if you want him here, then I’m not going to stop you. But you need to understand that Sebastian is playing you like a harp, because he’s obviously making up whatever he’s told you so he can sleep with me, and I’ll be waiting with an ‘I told you so’ when he inevitably hurts you.”

Kurt pauses again, shaking like a leaf with his bone-deep fury, and in a cold, tight voice, Kurt says, “_Get. Out._”

Blaine’s eyes widen again, but this time he seems to understand that he’s taken it a step too far, because the distress seeping from his pores is obvious. “Kurt, _sweetie_—” he tries pleadingly, but Kurt is so done right now that if Blaine doesn’t get out of the flat in the next fifteen seconds he’s going to do something he’ll regret for the rest of his life, like _slapping_ him.

“If you don’t get out right now, I am going to throw you out with my bare hands,” Kurt says icily, pointing a shaking finger to the door. He can see Sam in the background, his own eyes wide and mouth open, but Kurt ignores him in focussing solely on not losing even more of his temper.

Blaine’s eyes are swimming with tears, but he follows the command, stumbling towards the door through the section that Kurt’s swept free of glass. He throws on his shoes, mercifully already dressed for the day, and then leaves the loft with a loud, shuddering sob, sliding the door shut with finality.

Kurt stands in the middle of the kitchen, hands clenched tightly around the broom handle, for what seems like an age, heart pounding and body shuddering with adrenaline and rage. He hears Sam breathe out, “What in the hell?” from the bathroom door, but Kurt can’t respond, too afraid that he’ll lash out at Sam as well in his anger.

Slowly, he begins sweeping up the rest of the glass, every movement carefully measured, discards the shards into the bin methodically, mops up the water, and then goes into his bedroom to call Sebastian, the familiar sandalwood scent of Blaine Anderson all around him.

* * *

Things are very tense in the flat for the next two weeks.

Rachel’s already been filled in, likely by Sam. Rachel adores Blaine, of course, but in the end everyone knows that she’s Kurt’s best friend, and will always take his side. She spends a lot of time out of the flat, busy with Funny Girl and clearly wanting to be out of the charged atmosphere in their loft, but she tells Kurt once, “It’ll be okay. Let him apologise and forgive him if you can, but don’t let him get in between you and Sebastian either. I’ve seen you and Sebastian talking, and you can’t give your soulmate up for a boyfriend, even Blaine.” Kurt appreciates the solidarity, and the clear deference to Sebastian, though he’s not sure how to take the ‘soulmate’ part. Yes, Sebastian just _fits_ in a fundamental way with Kurt, but ‘soulmates’ seems too close to romantic destiny; while Kurt absently realises that it would be easier than breathing to fall arse over tit for Sebastian Smythe, he has a boyfriend and he won’t cheat on Blaine despite their current problems. Sebastian certainly isn’t even remotely capable, considering the circumstances, and according to Sebastian himself, he might _never_ be. So it’s a weird comment to make on Rachel’s part, but Kurt simply figures that it’s a platonic thing she’s referencing anyway, because there’s no denying that Sebastian _is_ Kurt’s platonic soulmate.

Sam is clearly awkward, having heard a good chunk of the argument between Kurt and Blaine. He’s a good friend of Kurt’s, but just like Rachel will always take Kurt’s side, Sam is required per best friend code to be on Blaine’s side. Still, he doesn’t really intervene, opting to be a sounding board for Blaine’s rants (though Kurt never hears those, hearing about them third-hand from Artie or Rachel) and dragging Blaine out of the flat when the tension is charged to bursting. Kurt’s thankful for the reprieve, as it gives him more time to himself so he can talk to Sebastian without Blaine being in the loft, but as Kurt also spends a frequent amount of time out of the flat himself, preferring to video chat over a latte in a coffee shop, it’s almost pointless.

Blaine and Kurt don’t really speak other than overly polite, stilted sentences, like ‘pass the salt’ and ‘good morning’. They’ve never had a fight like this before, not even over the cheating, and while Kurt and Blaine still sleep in the same bed (albeit with a good metre of space between them), they’re very cold to one another. They’re both simply too furious and emotional over the fight itself, and Kurt’s relieved that they aren’t talking until the tension eases a bit...if that ever even happens. Right now, if they tried to bridge the gap and talk, they wouldn’t get anywhere with it, just slipping into another fight that could break them entirely.

And Kurt, despite his anger, doesn’t really want that.

It’s so stupid that he is still clinging to Blaine, despite the horrible things he says with no apology, but it’s still _Blaine_, and he’s still the best Kurt’s ever going to get, and he doesn’t want to break up over Sebastian of all people. This time, however, Kurt _isn’t_ going to apologise, not over his friendship with Sebastian, so it’s up to Blaine to either get over his jealousy and possessiveness or to break up with Kurt himself. Kurt’s not going to do either, at least not in the immediate future.

He vaguely hopes that Blaine does something soon though. He’s only told Rachel and his parents that he’s going to France with Sebastian in mid-August, and none of the aforementioned are on a conversing basis with Blaine or Sam right now. Either Blaine needs to get over himself and accept that Sebastian’s a major part of Kurt’s life, or he’s going to get blindsided, because Kurt utterly _refuses_ to even speak to Blaine outside ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ until he’s gotten an apology.

Though Kurt has an inkling that no matter how sincere Blaine’s apology may be, the knowledge of Kurt going to the most romantic city in the world for two weeks with the unashamedly promiscuous Sebastian Smythe is going to be the proverbial nail in the coffin of their relationship.

Kurt’s surprised and quite disturbed when he realises that he doesn’t feel that upset about their impending, inevitable break up, even though he sincerely doesn’t want it to happen. It really hammers home the thought that Kurt’s more attached to the idea of a relationship with Blaine rather than a true, consuming love for him.

So they walk on eggshells, something Sebastian is kept well-informed of, Sam doesn’t leave, and on the day of Sebastian’s arrival, Kurt could cut the tension with a dull knife.

He’s in the kitchen, cooking up a simple meal that hopefully won’t be too much of a shock on Sebastian’s system – because he’s been looking thinner by the day over their video chats, and Kurt is adamant that Sebastian will eat _something_ before they go out – and wearing an apron over his carefully chosen outfit so it doesn’t get splattered with soup. It’s nothing special, just a simple veg soup and a homemade loaf of bread, with a lemon torte for afters, but he hopes Sebastian can manage to choke down some of the soup at least. Drinking on an empty stomach is a horrible idea, even if Kurt figures that Sebastian’s more than familiar with the practise, and Kurt’s fully prepared to guilt him into eating at least a little bit before they hit the town. God knows that Sebastian’s parents have been unsuccessful at getting the idiot to eat, but Kurt’ll be damned if he is equally unsuccessful.

Blaine’s been an utterly silent, black thundercloud of anger for the past two days, and even as Kurt cooks, he can feel those hazel eyes glaring at him from the sofa, where Sam and Blaine are half-heartedly watching one of the twelve thousand _Star Trek_ films. Kurt has a suspicion as to where Blaine’s mind’s at: Kurt’s dressed up even more so than usual, in preparation for the evening on the town, and he likely thinks that Kurt’s dolled himself up due to Sebastian himself.

Kurt hasn’t bothered to correct him of this notion, as the knowledge of Kurt and Sebastian hitting up the clubs on a Saturday night will be just as bad as Kurt dressing up for Sebastian, if not worse.

Rachel’s pulling out the bread out of the cooker when there’s a loud knock (obviously the tune of ‘Another One Bites the Dust’, the glorious bastard) and Kurt barks out a laugh that’s echoed by Rachel’s giggle. He drops the ladle, removes his apron, smoothies down his clothing, and walks calmly to the door, refusing to meet Blaine’s black stare as he slides open the door.

Sebastian stands there with a weekend bag over his thin shoulder, a mischievous grin on his gaunt face, and Kurt takes a deep breath, letting his eyes wander down Sebastian’s body. He’s _so_ thin, like he would blow away with the slightest gust of wind, but he still looks put together, in remarkably posh clothing rather than the horrid style Kurt’s seen him wear on the few occasions he’s seen Sebastian out of the Dalton uniform. It’s a good look on him, and the clothes are obviously tailored to his skinny frame, so he doesn’t look like he’s wearing clothes from before the substantial weight loss.

Kurt looks up into his eyes, says “You look like shit, pumpkin” in a remarkably even tone, and then pulls the poor man into his arms for a gentle hug, not caring if Sebastian has a problem with PDA or isn’t the hugging type in general.

It doesn’t seem like Sebastian _does_ have a problem though (even if there’s a possibility that he’s reciprocating simply so he can rile up Blaine, who Sebastian’s _incredibly_ pissed off at right now, to Kurt’s preoccupied amusement), as he just hugs back, burying his forehead into Kurt’s fabric-covered neck with a soft sigh. Kurt hears him murmur, “Fuck, am I glad I’m here,” and Kurt’s heart feels full to bursting, because even though Sebastian is fully aware that he’s walking into a minefield, Sebastian’s still _happy_ that he’s here, away from his father for the moment, with _Kurt_.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Kurt whispers back, fingers pressed into the sharp protrusions of Sebastian’s ribs underneath the black, soft button-up shirt he’s wearing.

They pull apart, look at each other for a long time, Sebastian’s vibrant eyes surrounded by dark circles resulting from insomnia, and then they simultaneously sigh. “Hope you’re ready to face the loft,” Kurt says quietly with a small, soft smile. “It’s practically World War III in there.”

Sebastian smirks, though Kurt can see the slight self-consciousness in his eyes. He’s undoubtedly more nervous than he’d like to admit, whether from the company itself or how _unhealthy_ he looks, which will be obvious to the people in the flat. “Sounds like fun. Lead me to the lion’s den, brave knight.”

Kurt’s smile widens, and he touches Sebastian’s forearm once in solidarity before he beckons him inside.

They both ignore the two boys on the sofa, who gasp in unison at the sight of Sebastian, and head towards the kitchen, where Rachel’s setting the table. She has a carefully composed look on her face that Kurt recognises as her Actress Expression, where she’s trying not to show how she really feels inside. When she finishes, she looks up at Sebastian and, bless her goddamn beautiful heart, smiles warmly at him, pulling him into a quick, friendly hug herself. Cheerfully, she says, “Welcome to New York, Sebastian. We hope you’re comfortable here, and even when you’re at school, you’re more than welcome to stay whenever you want!”

Sebastian looks surprised but actually smiles back, saying with a laidback charm, “Thanks Barbra.”

Rachel beams at him, predictably pleased at being called by her namesake and idol, and Kurt knows she’s won over. For the moment, at least – it’s inevitable that they’ll butt heads eventually, due to Sebastian biting sarcasm that she’ll be incapable of translating as well as Rachel’s propensity to be easily offended.

“We’ve made dinner. It’s not much, but Kurt cooked, so it’ll be amazing,” she pipes, turning away so she can carefully move the pot of soup from the hob to the warming platter on the table.

Sebastian wrinkles his nose with a frown, and then huffs with exasperation at Kurt’s pointed, no-nonsense look. He rolls his eyes but obeys Kurt’s unspoken command without a word, sitting down in Blaine’s usual seat next to Kurt (Kurt fights a grin at that). Kurt gingerly grabs the torte, placing it on the table before sitting down himself, and calls out in a faux-pleasant tone, “Dinner’s ready.” Blaine and Sam obligingly stand up, making their way to the table, looking at Sebastian from the corner of their eyes as they approach.

Sam and Rachel sit down, already reaching for the food, but Blaine remains standing, looking at Kurt earnestly. Quietly, he says, “I’m sorry, but can I speak to you in the other room for a second Kurt?”

There’s a brief moment where everyone at the table tenses, even Sebastian, but then Sebastian sighs and says irritably, “Oh my _God_, Blaine, just sit down and eat. You can have the necessary conversation about how I’m obviously faking an eating disorder to get into your pants _later_, Jesus.”

Rachel’s mouth opens with a silent, shocked, reluctant laugh, hastily covering her lips as her wide eyes search out Kurt’s. Kurt himself is biting his own lips, fingers digging into his thighs to distract him from the almost hysterical giggle that wants to escape. He chances a glance at Sebastian, who is calmly serving himself soup, and then looks at the two others. Sam looks like he’s angry and wants to laugh as well, which is an interesting combination, and Blaine is starting to turn pink, looking at Kurt like he’s betrayed.

But seriously, Sebastian had been the first person he’d talked to after the fight, and they don’t lie or keep secrets from each other. Sebastian’s known about the fight since approximately thirty seconds after he’d finished cleaning up the broken glass, and Kurt doesn’t regret telling him the nitty-gritty details.

Amusement dulled by Blaine’s expression but by no means dissipated, Kurt says tiredly, “Please, Blaine. Just sit down so we can eat in peace. We can talk after.”

Blaine nods a bit stiffly, sitting down and waiting for Sam to finish scooping out his own food. They all eventually serve themselves, Kurt going last, and almost everyone starts eating in a slightly awkward silence before Rachel (again, bless her heart) breaks it by inquiring, “So, Sebastian, Kurt’s said that you’re going to school here in the city, but he wasn’t specific.”

Sebastian pushes the vegetables and noodles in his bowl around with his spoon, making no effort to actually lift anything to his mouth, and replies with an obvious pride, “I start at Columbia on the second of September.” He looks even more pleased when Rachel applauds, smiling at the knowledge that Sebastian got into a school like Columbia, which is notorious for being highly restrictive.

Now Kurt’s kind of worried that they’ll actually hit it off, feeding off each other like leeches. The only thing worse than that would be if Sebastian and _Santana_ hit it off – Kurt has a feeling that it’d be beginnings of the apocalypse.

“Is that a performing arts school too?” asks Sam, looking unconcerned at Sebastian’s sudden _what-the-fuck_ expression. Kurt simply shakes his head, completely bewildered. Sam isn’t stupid by any means, but he’s never been very cognisant of certain cultural points that are well-known in society, like prestigious universities.

Surprisingly, it’s Blaine who answers, “Columbia’s an Ivy League school, Sam. You know, like Harvard and Yale? It’s really hard to get in – you have to be a really good student to make the list.” He shoots Kurt a tentative smile, which Kurt returns, because he recognises an olive branch when he sees it, and maybe that’s a good indicator of how the after-dinner conversation will go.

Which is to be expected. Sebastian _does_ look like a walking, talking, exhausted skeleton at the moment, and that would change almost anyone’s priorities. Though it might be all for naught when Kurt tells him about his later activities with Sebastian.

“Oh!” Sam exclaims, smiling. “That’s awesome dude. I guess I just figured that you’d be going to a college for the arts too. Seems to be all the rage in show choir circles, if you ignore Quinn going to Yale.”

Sebastian studies Sam for a moment, as if trying to figure him out, and then says, “I’m going for pre-med, actually.”

“Wow, that’s what Quinn’s doing,” Sam says excitedly. “You gonna treat kids too?”

Sebastian shakes his head, laying down his spoon and taking a sip of his water. “No, I’m not going into paediatrics; I want to be an intensivist in an A&E.” At Sam’s blank look, Sebastian clarifies, “A critical care doctor in the ER.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Sam with his mouth full of bread.

“Because I’m a pretentious European,” Sebastian deadpans, which earns a few snorts and sniggers. Then he looks at Kurt, who’s been watching the exchange whilst twirling his unused spoon in his fingers, and raises an eyebrow in question.

Airily, Kurt says in French to keep the conversation a bit more private, “_It’s considered rude for the cook to eat before the guests_.”

Sebastian just stares at him flatly, before he scoffs without much heat, picks his spoon up again, and says grumpily, “God, I don’t like you.”

Kurt simply smiles genteelly back and responds, “Fun, I don’t like you either.”

There’s a split second of silence, and then Sebastian starts laughing, causing his entire gaunt, pale face to light up with amusement at the memory of that long-ago conversation, when they _hadn’t_ liked each other. Kurt grins, pleased that Sebastian even remembers that, and earns a middle finger for his delight.

Still, Kurt figures it’s worth it when Sebastian takes a small spoonful of soup, Kurt mimicking him.

Conversation ebbs and flows. Sebastian is naturally inquisitive but seemingly a bastard about it, asking a lot of sarcastic questions and offering backhanded compliments (which causes a few feathers to ruffle but is ultimately ignored, in an effort to keep the peace). He’s also utterly shameless when he flirts with a laughing Sam, asking for a ‘private modelling session that I can totally pay for if you’d prefer’, amongst other things. Kurt knows that Sam’s not Sebastian’s type – he’s not attracted to blonds, even for a quick shag, so Kurt doesn’t have to worry about there being some weird play on Sebastian’s part to get Blaine’s best friend into bed – and Sam is comfortable in his own sexuality to accept the flirting for what it is: an honest appreciation for how he looks, but not a genuine play to _actually_ hook up. He also asks a lot of questions about the Broadway process, which Rachel and Kurt are more than happy to answer, and Rachel is even more won over when he congratulates her on Fanny – though Kurt has a wee bit of a sneaking suspicion that he’s showing her twice as much charm as the others because she’s Kurt’s best friend and because he knows she’s still grieving about Finn, which is actually _nice_ of him. He’s cordial to Blaine, but he doesn’t go out of his way with him like he does the others; Kurt doesn’t make a point to push them to converse more, as he’s just happy Sebastian isn’t showing his fangs considering the amount of bitching he’s done over the past few weeks about Blaine.

Sebastian also quickly catches on to Kurt’s not-so-subtle manipulation, in which Kurt will only eat his soup if Sebastian takes a mouthful first, so Kurt’s satisfied when they both finish their small bowls, happy that Sebastian has some food in his stomach, even if Kurt had to be underhanded to accomplish it (which he refuses to feel guilty about).

All-in-all, the simple dinner is a success, and Kurt’s happily nursing a glass of wine, content in his surroundings for the first time in weeks.

Sam and Rachel are on clean-up duty, since Sebastian is a guest and Kurt did the cooking. Normally it would’ve been Blaine in Rachel’s position, since she had set the table, but Blaine’s been fidgeting in his seat for the past ten minutes and Kurt knows he needs to have the belated conversation before Blaine can jump out of his skin. He’s loath to leave Sebastian out here by himself, wanting to be the barrier between Sebastian and the regulars, but Sebastian just rolls his eyes when Kurt visibly hesitates, saying in quick French, “_Don’t worry about it. Go talk to the drama queen. But hey, don’t bring up going out. I figured we’d go next weekend instead of tonight; I’m kind of tired anyway, and giving him a week to chill is only going to help with that looming argument anyway._”

Kurt frowns, and says, “_But we’ve been planning this for weeks now. If he has a problem with it, then he needs to suck it up._”

Sebastian smirks. “_As happy as I am that you’re growing a backbone when it comes to your boyfriend, it’s fine. Considering that they were watching _Star Trek_ when I came in, I’m positive that they’ll have _Lord of the Rings_ too._” The smirk widens into a grin when Kurt sighs, because they actually do have _Lord of the Rings_ on DVD, and he’s never going to get away from Sebastian’s obsession. He doesn’t have the time to shoot back a quip about Sebastian’s epic nerdiness because Sebastian continues, “_Seriously, just go. The faster you go talk, the faster you’ll be done. Just don’t leave me with these people for longer than fifteen minutes or I’m going to cry abandonment._”

Kurt snorts as he climbs to his feet, but doesn’t verbalise his agreement. Instead, he glances at Blaine, who’s been watching the exchange with an unfamiliar expression on his face, and Kurt nudges his head in the direction of their partitioned bedroom, the closest place to privacy that isn’t locking themselves in the loo. Blaine hops up from his own seat, beelining towards their bedroom, and Kurt follows at a more sedate pace, making a conscious effort to relax so he isn’t prone to snapping or breaking his wine glass in an iron-like grip.

Kurt barely closes the curtain before Blaine’s in his personal space, wrapping himself around Kurt’s torso, and he feels claustrophobic all the sudden. All the same, he still brings his free arm around Blaine’s body in a practised move, lightly hugging him back.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” Blaine says, his voice quiet so they aren’t overheard. “I hate fighting with you, and just looking at him, it’s obvious that you were right about there being something wrong. Is he okay? I mean, he said he had an eating disorder? It was pretty clear that he had a problem with eating but this is Sebastian, so I don’t know if he’s just being sarcastic or misleading everyone from the real issue.”

Kurt pulls away and walks to the bed, sitting gingerly down on the edge and placing his wine glass on the end table. Blaine follows him to the bed, his eyes big and earnest, and once they’re both sat down with their hands clasped tight, Kurt answers honestly, “Like I said before, it’s not really my story to tell, but he _has_ been having issues with food lately. His parents are utterly useless at dealing with him, but now that he’s here in New York I have an opportunity to manipulate him so he’ll eat. He’ll see it like a flashing neon sign, but he’s a bit of a softy underneath so I’m hoping that he’ll just indulge me.”

Blaine rubs a hand down his face and genuinely looks upset. “Christ, Kurt, he looks _terrible_. Is there anything I can do?”

Kurt figures that Sebastian would run out of the loft screaming if Blaine of all people got really clingy and sympathetic, and says so (though with a bit more delicacy): “I don’t think so, to be honest. Just try to be diplomatic and don’t rise to his barbs – he’s really prickly right now with pretty much everyone, and he’ll lash out at you at first, but if you don’t smother him or treat him like he’s fragile, he’ll appreciate it. Just try to be friendly, and it’ll go a long way. Sebastian needs all the friends he can get right now.”

Blaine nods enthusiastically, and then sighs. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll be honest and say that I’m not sure how to feel about him in our lives right now, but you’re right. It’s been a long time since Sebastian and I have talked, since before the slushie actually, and I don’t really know what his life has been like since Karofsky. I’m going to try to not be so jealous over him, because he seems kinda mad at me and he’s never found you attractive, so there’s no reason for me to be so bent out of shape.”

Kurt’s not upset at the reminder that Kurt’s not Sebastian’s type, as Kurt (while abstractly aware that Sebastian is gorgeous) isn’t really attracted to Sebastian either. He _could_ be, if he let himself, but he’s sincerely not. Just because he thinks that Sebastian Smythe is good-looking doesn’t mean that he wants to sleep with him (especially since Kurt has a boyfriend), and besides, Sebastian wouldn’t touch Kurt with a barge pole.

Kurt doesn’t do one-night stands, so since that’s all Sebastian _does_ do, they’re pretty incompatible when it comes to any potential for a real relationship.

Instead, Kurt says, “You do understand that while Sebastian is certainly not absolved of guilt when it comes to the things he said to David when David was vulnerable, he didn’t drive David to his...attempt. There were a lot of factors that led to David’s choice, Blaine, and while Sebastian’s comments added onto the mountain of issues David was going through, it certainly wasn’t the driving point.”

Blaine sighs again and admits, “I know. I was just angry and everything just sort of...spewed out of me. I’m really sorry, Kurt.”

It’s a sincere apology, and he’s actually taking responsibility for his horrible words, which Kurt almost believed was an impossibility, and Kurt smiles widely, cupping Blaine’s face and kissing him sweetly on the mouth. He’s tempted to deepen it (and he can tell by the tenseness of Blaine’s compact body that he is as well), but instead he reluctantly pulls away. Sebastian’s still in the firepit, also known as the sitting room, and Kurt doesn’t want to leave him alone for very long.

Quietly, but with clear resolve and authority in his voice, Kurt says, “I need you to trust me, Blaine. Sebastian is one of my closest friends, and I’m going to be there for him. If there are any concerns or questions that you have, I want you to communicate them with me, because we need to be able to talk to each other about this. I don’t like that you feel insecure, and I want to make completely sure that you’re comfortable with everything. That being said, everything that I don’t say, and everything that I do in regards to Sebastian, has a _purpose_ behind it. There are going to be things in our lives that you don’t like me doing or saying, and there’s going to be things that _I_ don’t like _you_ doing or saying, but we need to be able to trust each other or we’re never going to be able to make this work. Just believe me when I say that I love you, and I’m not going to cheat on you, and that at the end of the day, _you_ are the talented, gorgeous, perfect boy that I’m coming home to every night, okay?”

Blaine’s eyes are shining with unshed tears, and he replies with a shaky, but true smile, “Okay, Kurt. You’ll have to be patient with me sometimes, and I’ll probably need a lot of reassurance, and I don’t want you guys spending every second together to the point where I don’t exist anymore, but we can do this. I’ll talk to you about everything that I’m feeling and we’ll work it out together, okay?”

That’s all Kurt’s ever wanted to hear, and so he just kisses Blaine again, smiling happily against his mouth and his heart fluttering with contentment.

They wipe their eyes, kiss chastely one more time, and then walk out to the sitting room, where the others are curled up on respective chairs watching the DVD title screen of one of the _Lord of the Rings_ movies. Kurt sits down beside Sebastian, giving Blaine just enough room to snuggle on his other side, and returns Sebastian’s guarded glance with a small shrug and a slightly embarrassed smile.

“_You good?_” Sebastian asks in French almost inaudibly, raising an eyebrow in question.

Kurt whispers back, “_I’m good. For now, at least. I’ll re-evaluate the truce when I tell him about Paris_.”

“_Waiting is just going to make it worse, y’know,_” Sebastian says, for the umpteenth time since they had made the plans. He has been a vocal advocate of Kurt telling Blaine about Paris as soon as they had reconciled, but Kurt both hadn’t had the chance to bring it up and was incredibly wary of doing to in the first place, and then that fight had just complicated matters further. Kurt knows it’s wrong, that he should’ve gotten everything out there before they had even made the mutual decision to start dating again, but he hadn’t, and now he has to live with the consequences.

“_I know,_” he replies in agreement, wrapping his arm around Blaine instinctively when his boyfriend snuggles into his side, watching the conversation with curiosity this time. “_But now I think it would be smarter to give him a few days to think about what I said, and hopefully he’ll take it better than right now, when we’re just getting back in sync._”

Sebastian looks at Blaine with a frown, then refocuses his gaze on Kurt and says quietly, “_Okay. You’d know better than I would at any rate. Now shut up; I need to concentrate on the film, and you need to educate yourself on quality cinema._”

Kurt rolls his eyes but acquiesces, for once actually watching the first movie in the trilogy instead of absently acknowledging the eye candy while ignoring the plot itself.

He’s simultaneously happy that he actually likes it (because now he and Sebastian can stop jokingly butting heads and enjoy it together, as there’s now yet _another_ thing that they have in common) and irritated about the same thing (because Sebastian is _never_ going to let him down).

* * *

Kurt picks up the coffees, turns around to head back to their table, and stops in his tracks.

It’s a fact of life that Sebastian Smythe is fit. His brown hair highlighted with bronze and gold in the light, his olive skin dotted with the occasional freckle over his angular features, his dancing green eyes flecked with amber and surrounded by thick lashes, his full lips usually stretched over a confident and mischievous grin, his thick but groomed eyebrows a shade darker than his hair, his long body that he almost absently accentuates by stretching out gracefully wherever he’s sat – he’s just an absurdly fit human being. Even despite the dramatic weight loss, he’s still beautiful, a specimen of male that attracts even the most reluctant eyes, and Kurt’s not immune to his effortless attractiveness.

Still though, while Kurt’s always been peripherally aware of this, it’s never really hit him like a punch in the gut before, not like right now. Kurt’s not sure why this moment is any different, but it is, against all reason. He’s sat in his chair with his long legs stretched out underneath the table, chin in his palm as he stares out of the window, unseeingly taking in the heavy clouds that drip a warm rain on the bustling New York traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular. The weak grey light throws his gaunt features into high relief, washing out the green of his eyes and his freckled skin, but it’s almost like the fragility of his emaciated body has created a poignant, otherworldly aura of beauty in the feeble illumination coming from the dreary weather outside. Though Kurt thinks that Sebastian looks a thousand times more stunning with the lean, strong definition that he’d had in the past, he’s still ridiculously striking in his current state.

Kurt shakes his head, gives himself a bit of an internal shake, and then makes his way to their table, carefully schooling his features so Sebastian can’t read his thoughts.

He places both of the cups down – both espressos, as Kurt’s preparing for France and espresso is their version of ‘coffee’, not the American lattes and mochas and drips he’s used to – and sits down, cupping his fingers around the warm mug. This place is his favourite coffee shop in a five-block radius to the loft, quaint and homey and organic, and he’s a regular customer when he isn’t in Manhattan for school or work. Sebastian’s fond of it too, and they’ve often found themselves sitting in the shop when they’re together and not exploring the boroughs of the city.

Kurt and Sebastian do a lot of exploring, actually, when Sebastian’s father is busy networking in the city and Kurt doesn’t have prior commitments with his friends and makeshift family (though Sebastian frequents those outings as well, and is slowly but surely integrating himself into the New Directions alumni rapport). They’ve spent the majority of their time picking through the nooks and crannies of Manhattan, where Sebastian will be living come September, but they’ve ventured to other areas as well, taking in the city’s charm. It is remarkably fun, the two of them discovering New York together with their normal sarcastic banter and easy camaraderie, and it also has the added bonus of being a brilliant distraction from the rest of the world. Kurt is able to get out of the overcrowded flat, spend time with a close friend, and get a break from Blaine, who’s been unusually supportive of Sebastian and Kurt spending time together but is still a constant, almost overbearing shadow when he’s with Kurt. Sebastian, on the other hand, can take his mind off the looming trial and get away from his father, who’s let Sebastian (mercifully) have space to breathe but is still his own version of a constant, almost overbearing shadow when he’s present.

Kurt and Sebastian have had dinner with Mr Smythe (“call me Theodore, Mr Hummel” – “oh...well, thank you, but please call me Kurt then”), Nina, and the girls quite a few times when Sebastian’s not at the loft or busy doing other things, and Kurt can tell just by the big, wide blue eyes that watch them during said dinners that Mr Smythe is just as fascinated with Kurt as Sebastian’s constantly complained about. Maybe it’s the fact that Sebastian eats when he’s with Kurt (since Kurt refuses to take a bite of any meal or ingest any sort of calories unless Sebastian goes first, which guilts Sebastian into eating so Kurt himself doesn’t starve...though Kurt feels no guilt at the underhanded ploy if it means that Sebastian’s eating something) or if it’s their easy friendship, which sort of looks like crap from the outside considering how biting they are to each other unless a person knows Sebastian and Kurt’s dynamic.

It’s only been a week since Sebastian’s arrived in New York, but they’ve found a comfortable familiarity with each other, and Kurt’s relieved that they’re able to do this in person as well as through the relative distance of mobiles and video chats.

Kurt blows on the espresso, trying to cool it enough to drink, and murmurs in French around the lip of the mug, “_Stop looking out the window like the tragic heroine of an indie film and tell me everything._”

Sebastian blinks slowly and then turns away from the window, raising his eyebrow but not responding to the quip, saying instead with a bit of a whinge, “_But talking makes my head hurt._”

Kurt, whose head also hurts a bit from the copious amounts of drinking last night (though he’s thankful that he’s young and doesn’t get real hangovers, just a mild headache), isn’t sympathetic. “_I don’t care,_” he responds, taking a tentative sip of his espresso. The bean is obscenely good, like always, but it doesn’t stop his tongue from burning due to the heat. When he’s happily sighed at the caffeine, he continues, “_You’ve been sitting on this for the entire day and I’m burning with curiosity, so shoot._”

“_We’ve only been awake for twenty minutes, buttercup_,” Sebastian groans.

Kurt shrugs, absently rolling his tongue in his mouth and clicking the barbell against his teeth, giving a pointed look that clearly demands Sebastian to start talking.

“_Ugh, _fine_, you fucking harpy._” He takes his own small sip, humming in the back of his throat in pleasure despite the slight cringe when he burns his own tongue, and then shrugs himself. “_It’s nothing too dramatic. He didn’t even try to punch me in the face, though it was close for a second there._”

Sebastian and Kurt had finally gone to a club the previous night, but instead of just them, the entire loft had tagged along (Blaine had been utterly adamant and Sebastian had been fine with it, so it had been a done deal). It had been slightly awkward at first – being on Sebastian’s natural turf with Kurt’s more straight-laced, tame friends and faux-family behind them – but it had been surprisingly fun. Kurt’s only experience with anything remotely resembling the crazy insanity of the gay club last night had been Scandals, and Scandals was a boring dive bar in comparison. Obviously. They had gotten in with their fake IDs, which all of them had for various reasons, and then had spent the night downing shots, dancing, and generally having a great time.

Eventually though, Rachel had kind of dropped the bomb, drunkenly giggling at Kurt and Sebastian’s drawling, mocking words to each other in French and telling the whole table in a very loud voice that it was good Kurt was getting his French practise in before he went frolicking through the streets of Paris in two weeks’ time.

Sebastian had taken control of the situation rather quickly, standing up and telling a shocked, increasingly furious-looking Blaine to follow him to the patio. They had left, disappearing for damn near an hour, and when they came back, Blaine had been quiet the rest of the night, lost in his own thoughts. When they had left shortly after, right before last call, Blaine had simply shaken his head at Kurt’s inquiries and pleads to talk, laying down to sleep off the alcohol without a word.

Blaine had still been asleep when Kurt had woken up, and he had roused a grumpy Sebastian (who’d taken up residence on a futon they had bought in anticipation of his arrival, since Sam was still on the couch) and dragged him to the coffee intervention.

“_I didn’t say much to him,_” Sebastian says, tearing Kurt from his thoughts. “_It’s not exactly a secret that I’m not his biggest fan, but I think I got it across that I’m not out for your virtue or whatever. I think he’s going to be okay with you coming to Paris for two weeks, but who knows. Blainers is unpredictable._”

Kurt just stares at Sebastian, wordlessly asking for more details as he takes another sip of too-hot espresso, and Sebastian finally elaborates, “_I told him the bare bones of it: that my sister and I, along with a lorry-full of others, were assaulted by a guy in France, and that I had to go to Paris for the trial. I mentioned that sex and partying would literally be the last thing on my mind, and that you were only coming so I didn’t off myself._” Kurt flinches minutely, and Sebastian gives him a ghost of a smile. “_I might have exaggerated that part. I honestly don’t have any desire to really kill myself, though to be fair I’d murder for a fix right now, but anyway, it was a good way to emphasise everything. And then I told him that he was being a controlling, jealous bastard and that if he made you choose, he _really_ wouldn’t like your answer._”

This time, Kurt’s the one that smiles despite the surge of fear and nervousness at Sebastian’s absentminded admission that he’s actively craving drugs. Sebastian’s not wrong though – Blaine _wouldn’t_ like the answer if he demanded Kurt choose between his beloved boyfriend and one of his best friends, who needs Kurt’s support more than anything right now. It wouldn’t even be a choice, because even though in his own way Kurt loves Blaine so much that’s sometimes physically painful, Sebastian needs Kurt, and at the moment, under the current circumstances, until the trial is over, there is absolutely _nothing_ that would keep Kurt away from Sebastian.

He hopes Blaine understands.

“_You didn’t have to tell him that,_” Kurt says quietly.

Sebastian huffs with an exaggerated eye roll. “_It’s not like I went into excruciating detail like I did with you, and besides, I had to give the idiot something. He was under the impression that I was...what was it? Oh yeah, ‘out to break us up with a romantic affair in Paris, and he’s _mine_, so back off!’_” He even gives the sarcastic finger quotes, to Kurt’s distracted amusement. “_All-in-all, it wasn’t too bad. I’m sure he’ll talk to you once the hangover dies down a bit. God knows you guys need to talk this out, because your communication skills _really_ need some work._”

Kurt sighs. “_I know. We’ve always been bad about the deep stuff._”

Sebastian looks at him for a long moment, his espresso against his mouth, and then he says bluntly, “_You guys are shit boyfriends, you know that right? You could do so much better._”

A shudder rolls down Kurt’s spine (because a part of Kurt knows that they really are bad at being boyfriends, and Kurt’s also told Sebastian every fear and thought in regards to the relationship), but he tenses anyway, instantly defensive. “_We’re not perfect, Sebastian, but we’re working on it. Relationships aren’t easy, and we’re really trying to make this work for the long haul. Besides,_” he tacks on with a bit of self-deprecating humour, “_it’s not like there’s a line of boys clamouring for my attention, even here in New York. You’ve said it yourself: I’m practically a girl and have a serious case of the gay face. I’m not exactly prime pickings, Sebastian. Blaine’s the best I’m ever going to get, so I really need to make this work._”

Suddenly, Kurt feels kind of weird, because Sebastian’s looking at him like he’s an alien, placing his coffee down on the table so he can cross his arms against his chest. He leans back in his seat with a heavy frown, sharp green eyes flickering between Kurt’s glasz ones, and Kurt feels really exposed, like Sebastian’s examining him under a microscope.

Then, after what seems like an eon of silence, Sebastian says in English, “Can I tell you something without you taking it the wrong way or reading too much into it?”

Apprehensive and not bothering to hide it, Kurt removes his own hands from his cup so he can sit back as well, back ramrod straight and refusing to break their eye contact despite his nervousness. He simply nods, swallowing thickly – because he has _no_ idea what special brand of crazy is going to come out of Sebastian’s mouth – and Sebastian looks at him for a little longer before he nods, seemingly coming to a decision.

“You know how I rate guys in my head, right?”

Kurt does. Sebastian had told him early on in their friendship that he has a method to his madness. On a scale from zero to ten (though he’s never met a zero or a ten), Sebastian classifies men he sees instantly, whether to get laid or just to amuse himself. Then, if he talks to the man in question, he adjusts the scale based off their personality or quirks. It’s his entire process when it comes to making friends, acquaintances, and minions, or picking up a guy for the night. For instance, if he sees a fit guy across a bar (instantly classified as a seven), talks to him and finds out that he’s fun (elevate to an eight) or that he’s the overly clingy type that’ll want a relationship (downgrade to a five), it’ll determine if he’s going to take a guy to bed or not.

He’s always been utterly unyielding when it comes to telling Kurt what his (or Blaine’s, for that matter) number is, and Kurt’s always had a morbid curiosity about them; he knows that he’s not high when it comes to the initial classification, but he’s always wondered if he’s higher just based off how well they mesh together on a personality scale. It’s the same for Blaine: he knows that the initial classification was high, but Sebastian also dislikes Blaine on a fundamental level, so Kurt’s always been curious as to what his number for Blaine is too. Something tells Kurt that this is the moment where he finds out, and he’s not disappointed.

Sebastian resumes evenly at Kurt’s wary nod, “Okay, so when I met Blaine, he was a seven, but when he eventually told me that he had a boyfriend, he dropped to a six because cheating’s not cool, and he’s dropped to a three since you and I’ve become friends because he’s a shithead and I kinda hate him.” Kurt feels the corner of his lips quirk up against his will, having heard _that_ from Sebastian before, and Sebastian grins unashamedly at the reluctant smile he’s pulled from Kurt. But then the grin disappears as fast as it had appeared, and he reiterates, “I’m serious, don’t freak out or read too much into this, but when you walked into the Lima Bean that day, you were a solid eight, and a nine by the time you walked back out.”

Kurt’s jaw drops, and he exclaims loudly, “_What_?!”

There are a few curious glances from the other patrons of the shop, and Kurt feels his cheeks burn, embarrassed at his outburst. Sebastian just snickers, and when the inquisitive glances leave them, he straightens himself up so he can put his elbows on the table. Gesturing with his hands as he talks, he says with laughter in his voice, “Don’t sound so shocked. You’re totally hot...definitely a nine. The only reason I said those things back then was because I was trying to break you and Blaine up so he’d sleep with me _and_ because it’s so much fun to rile you up. If you were anyone else, I’d consider it foreplay.”

“_Oh_ my God,” Kurt breathes, sort of hyperventilating and bringing both hands to his mouth, eyes wide with shock. Of _all_ the things Sebastian could’ve said...

Sebastian rolls his eyes, smirking. “No need to get your panties in a twist, buttercup; I’m just being honest here. Your self-esteem issues are really annoying and completely unfounded, and I think you need to hear this, because you _can_ do a lot better than that dillweed. And as for the supposed lack of guys interested in you, you’re such a fucking idiot. Even at the bar last night, guys were checking you out like crazy. Hell, one guy – who was _smoking_ hot might I add, easily a seven right off the bat – came and asked Blaine when we were talking if he was dating you, because if not he was totally going to get your number. Blaine tried _so_ hard to shut that shit down like the hand of God, but the guy just asked if he was game for a threesome instead. I swear I nearly choked to death laughing.”

The shocked, disbelieving laugh that comes out of Kurt’s mouth is inhuman, but Sebastian’s not a liar, so he has to believe it.

“Anyway, I know you love the moron, for whatever dumb reason, but if you’re staying with him just because you think you can’t do better, then you need to open those weird eyes of yours and get with the fucking programme. If you’d drop the frigid ice queen routine just a little, guys would stop blanching at your intimidating exterior and actually have a go at getting into your pants. I’m not saying you should break up with Blainers – though you should _absolutely_ break up with him, for the record – but you gotta admit that your shit at the ‘boyfriend’ crap. Relationships are hard, but they shouldn’t make you _miserable_, and both of you are definitely miserable, it’s painfully obvious. You guys have the ‘friends’ part down like a bad sitcom, but when it comes to actually being together, you’re just fundamentally different people that want different things.” Then Sebastian groans and adds, “I’ll deny it for eternity if this ever gets out because I have a reputation to maintain, but you’re kind of my best friend, and you deserve more than what you’re settling for. You deserve to be happy, you freakin’ idiot.”

Kurt’s chest feels tight, so tight that he’s afraid it’ll burst, and to his horror he feels his eyes start prickling. He has _no_ idea how he got so lucky as to have this bastard as a friend, but _God_, he’s so happy that Sebastian’s in his life. Despite their fights and the digs and the hurtful honesty, Sebastian is one of the best things that’s ever happened to him, and Kurt is so glad that he chose to walk around the Columbus hospital that day, because he’s gotten a true friend out of it.

Additionally, the speech that Sebastian’s just gave is painful (and is eerily close to his dad’s _You Matter_ speech all those years ago, albeit with more mockery), because it’s something that Kurt’s known for a long time, but he’s right, and Kurt can’t ignore that. Still, he forcibly smothers it for the time being, because while Kurt knows that he needs to have a long-long-_long_ conversation with his boyfriend about everything, he doesn’t want to do it before Paris. It’d be cruel to break up with him right as Blaine is trying to come to terms with releasing his suffocating hold on Kurt’s independence, and if anything, it’s something that Blaine needs to learn. Even if they don’t break up because of this, Kurt can’t live in a smothering relationship for the rest of his life and needs independence and space to be happy; conversely, if they do break up, at least Blaine will be more cognisant of his controlling, possessive tendencies, and that’d only be a good thing when he inevitably finds another guy to date.

Sebastian’s staring out the window again, instinctively letting Kurt have a moment to himself so he can process (Christ, but this man is the perfect friend); however, as Kurt has come to the decision that he’s at least waiting until after Paris to have the talk, he hears himself say (because it’s been in the back of his head since Sebastian’s shocking reveal, though he thinks he already knows the answer): “Can I ask _you_ a question without you taking it the wrong way or reading too much into it?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh and looks back at Kurt with a small, knowing smirk on his lips. “You want to know why I didn’t try to fuck you instead of Blaine, when you scored higher than he did?”

Kurt blinks, feeling his cheeks heat again, and then says, “Er...well, _yeah_.”

Sebastian shrugs a single shoulder, reaching again for his mug. After a small sip and accompanying hum, he smacks his lips and says, “I figured that it’d be obvious. Like I said, I pegged Blainers as a cheater almost the second I met him, but you’re the complete opposite. Yeah, you’re a helluva lot hotter than he is, especially when you open your mouth and the sass comes out, but I knew I wasn’t going to sway _you_, especially once you guys had _obviously_ lost the v-card and entered the honeymoon phase. That shit’s impossible for an interloper like me to weasel into.” He pauses, eyes flickering around Kurt’s features, and then continues bluntly, “Blaine’s the kind of guy that you sleep with once or twice and then never call back. You, on the other hand, are a trap.”

Kurt’s not sure what that means, though he has a pretty good idea, so he’s not entirely sure if he should be amused or offended. He simply raises an eyebrow, silently demanding clarification, and Sebastian doesn’t disappoint, saying flatly: “Look, you’re the one-true-love, monogamous-till-death type of guy. Anyone who looks at you can see that from a few countries away. Or, more realistically, a few galaxies. You’re not the wham-bam-thank-you-man type like me – you’re the guy that you bring home to your parents and marry and all that dumb shit. So yeah, all-in-all, wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, nine or not, not even for a threesome with your one true love or whatever, but you’re fit as hell and you should own it. There are loads of guys that are into all that...weird, romantic bullshit, so you shouldn’t play all your cards right this second when there’s literally millions of guys out there who want the same end game as you.”

It’s exactly as Kurt thought, so he just clears his throat and says simply, “Thanks.” Then, just because he’s a brat, and also because he’s a hopeless romantic that genuinely believes it’ll be true one day, he adds, “And you’ll find your perfect ten one day, Sebastian, even if it takes you a few decades to be ready for him.”

Sebastian looks confused. “Huh? There’s no such thing as a perfect ten. And what the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Sure there is,” Kurt pipes up with a smile. “It’s gonna be the nine that you’re going to get to get old and grey and do all that quote-unquote ‘dumb shit’ with. Hence a perfect ten, because you’ll be in _love_.”

Sebastian looks at him with an exasperated grimace. “You are _so_ fucking soft.”

“Hey, now, don’t forget that there’s a few million guys out there that are soft just like me,” Kurt teases, mockingly toasting Sebastian with his mug.

Sebastian simply groans and throws a stirring stick at his face.

* * *

When Kurt gets home a few hours later, sans Sebastian, Blaine’s waiting for him.

“Can we talk?” Blaine asks him softly, bloodshot eyes pinched in the corners as he nurses a cup of drip coffee. The bottle of Advil is off to the side of an empty cup of water, and Kurt remembers then that Blaine’s always been the exception to the Young People Don’t Get Hangovers rule. He feels a stab of pity and makes an internal pledge to keep his voice at a smooth, even timbre as to not make Blaine’s headache worse. He doesn’t know how this conversation’s going to go, but he can make a concentrated effort to avoid undue physical pain with the emotional.

He knows what this is _about_ though; he hopes that Blaine isn’t going to demand that Kurt stay in the States regardless of how he knows the situation now, and so he answers gently, “Of course. Bedroom?”

Blaine shakes his head slowly, hands methodically clenching and unclenching around his cup. “No, I think it should be out here.” He gives Kurt a brittle smile, eyes pained, and admits, “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep if I lay down.”

Kurt nods and then makes his way to the cupboards, pulling out his favourite mug – a Princess Zelda one that he’d stolen from Finn before he’d come to New York – and pouring himself a cup, adding a dash of almond milk and a packet of Splenda with careful, slow precision. He’s not hesitating, per se, but he does need a few seconds to get his thoughts in order before he sits down for this.

The rest of the flat is quiet when he sits down, his own hands warming on the mug, and he glances at the sofa. It’s empty, though Sam’s blankets are still covering the cushions, just like Sebastian’s futon along the window. He looks towards Rachel’s partition then, and sees that it’s open, bed hastily made but equally empty. He wonders if they’re simply out getting everyone a greasy breakfast from the hole-in-the-wall joint they’d discovered with Santana (which is the ideal place to get post-drinking takeout), or if Blaine’s kicked them out so Blaine and Kurt can talk in relative privacy.

“Okay,” Kurt says when he’s settled and his eyes are back on Blaine’s tired face, “shoot.”

Blaine huffs out a laugh and remarks quietly, “You’re starting to sound like him.”

Kurt frowns, but Blaine’s not wrong. Still, Kurt’s not at all fond of the sound of his voice (dull, lifeless), and he responds rather timidly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine replies, and it sounds truthful at least. “It’s normal to adopt things like that when you’re close.” Kurt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he simply sits silently, taking a drink of his coffee and letting the flavour roll on his tongue. Eventually, when the stillness has stretched on for an uncomfortable length of time, Blaine says almost inaudibly, “I thought he was lying, or that I’d dreamt the conversation. But the first thing I did when I woke up was google it, and it’s all there, every bit of it, even Sebastian’s _name_ in black and white, and it’s a thousand times worse than he made it out to be. Kids, Kurt. They were _children_. I guess that’s as good an explanation as any about why he sleeps around. It’s practically textbook.”

“It plays a part in it,” Kurt says evasively, not willing to let Blaine in on the private thoughts of Sebastian Smythe and the _true_ reason why Sebastian seeks out physical companionship. Letting Blaine assume that Sebastian does it for control is kinder than lying, and easier than explaining the inner workings of a broken man’s mind.

“Yeah, I guess,” Blaine breathes. He lifts his mug to his lips, hands shaking so hard that he nearly spills it over the rim, but doesn’t drink, staring unseeingly at his reflection in the coffee’s rippling surface. For a few seconds, he’s silent save his breathing, and then he says shakily, “I think we should break up.”

Kurt goes utterly still.

Before he can say anything, or compose his swirling, panicking thoughts, or even think past the ringing in his ears, Blaine rushes out, “I love you, more than anything, but we’re not working, are we? I mean, you’re my best friend, but when you’re my boyfriend, it’s like we forget that. We can talk about music and fashion and our dreams for hours but when it comes to the important stuff, like communicating our fears and talking through our problems, or even about little things like how your dad told me he didn’t like me to my face or how you’ve made plans to fly off to Paris with a friend, we just can’t bridge the gap. And I’m...I want someone dependent on me, and you’re the most independent person I’ve met. How’re we supposed to make this work when we’re ignoring our problems to focus on superficial things, and when we want such different things in a relationship?”

Blaine takes a deep breath and finally looks at Kurt, tears pouring down his face and his expression so raw that Kurt almost can’t stand to meet his eyes. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that we can get better, that we can make this work, that we can be forever. _Please_, Kurt, tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll believe you, and we’ll work twice as hard to make this be for forever.”

Kurt swallows past the suffocating ball of heartbreak in his throat, and responses in a rasp, “I can’t.”

Blaine closes his eyes so tightly the skin around his eyes goes pale, and he chokes out a loud sob, but he’s nodding dejectedly. “I know, I know,” he whispers, voice thin and fragile, and then he takes a deep, shaky breath as he lowers his mug and says, “I wanted this so much. I bought us rings and asked your dad for his blessing, the whole nine yards.” Kurt’s heart clenches _so tightly_ at those words, because _God_ he could be Blaine’s _fiancé_ right now or some day in the future, but he doesn’t have the chance to speak, as Blaine continues, “I don’t want to say goodbye to you. I want to stay friends and bring you flowers at your first Broadway show and be there for you every time you need me, but I think we should take a few months to...just breathe a bit. Sam and I are moving out – not too far away from here; I’ve already googled a place that looks good, and my parents will pay for it – but after we get back on our feet, I want to be your best friend again. And...” He trails off, shooting a watery smile at Kurt, and then finally finishes softly, “And maybe in six months, a year, hell, even a decade, when we have a few other boyfriends under out belts and we’ve gotten comfortable with ourselves and our lives, we can try again if we feel like we should. That is, if you aren’t married to Sebastian by then.”

Kurt sighs, and finally speaks up in a dry croak, “I’d like to be friends again, and I think it’ll be easy to do – we’re already good at that part after all. I think it’d be nice, living a little and learning each other as we grow up, and maybe we _will_ one day be ready to actually commit to a relationship without all the issues we have now blinding us.” Then he adds decisively, “And I’m not marrying Sebastian. Absolutely no way in hell.”

Blaine lets out a half-hearted snort, looking back at his coffee. With a familiar dark tone in his voice, he drones, “Never say never.” Kurt opens his mouth to retort back, a glimmer of anger igniting in his chest (because if they’re broken up now, then Blaine has no reason to be jealous, and especially over someone so totally off-limits and impractical like Sebastian Smythe), but Blaine resumes, “Sebastian’s the reason that I came to this decision. He said some things last night that really hit home, and even if he hadn’t...he’s only been here a _week_, Kurt, and you’ve only apparently been friends for three months, and yet you guys have what you and I should’ve had two _years_ ago. It’s like watching two magnets when I’m in the same room as you, always in each other’s space with your _stupid_ French and your _stupid_ banter, and I haven’t seen you that animated since before we started dating, to be perfectly frank. But at the same time, you’re both totally fine going off on your own or sitting in the same room without even talking. Hell, even when you guys argue for real, you always give each other space and then talk it out until it’s genuinely okay, and _Jesus_, I’ve been so _jealous_ that I could barely _function_, Kurt, and I can’t _live_ like this. I’d turn into a monster if we continued being boyfriends and he was in our lives, and considering what he’s going through right now and how you guys play off each other, he’s obviously going to be around for a long time. So it’s only a matter of time before you guys end up falling for each other, and I can’t compete with that.”

Kurt can’t speak, his throat clogged up with anguish and the urge to refute Blaine’s words, but he can’t volley back anyway, because a lot of it is true. Still, at the same time, not all of it is factual, and it’s also not fair, so he clears his throat as best he can and manages, “It’s not like that. I mean, it is, but it isn’t at the same time. Sebastian’s...Sebastian isn’t capable of loving someone, Blaine, and I can’t have a relationship without it. We might mesh well, but we’ll never be compatible in that way.”

Blaine repeats with a trace of bitterness, “Never say never.”

“Blaine...” Kurt starts, but suddenly Blaine’s on his feet, swaying a bit before he settles, and the words die in Kurt’s throat. Blaine says tiredly, “Look, I don’t want to argue about that, and it’ll lead to an argument, you know it will. So I’m just going to pack my stuff, check into a hotel with Sam until we get the place, and then we’ll figure things out in a few months. Re-evaluate when we both start school in September, okay?”

“I don’t want this,” Kurt whispers, but Blaine either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care to respond, heading slowly into their (_his_) bedroom without another word.

It’s a long time – Sam and Blaine gone, and Rachel at work – before he feels like he can move without fainting.


	3. Part Two: A Promise

Part Two  
_A Promise_

–

“The child gives, because the body can, and the mind of the violator cannot.”  
Maya Angelou, _I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings_

“_Nous atterrirons à l'aéroport Charles de Gaulle dans une trentaine de minutes..._”

Kurt startles, a burst of excited nerves exploding in his chest for the umpteenth time since the day previous, and he straightens in his seat, reaching to grasp the armrests in a tight grip.

The attendant continues in a smooth tone over the intercom, “_C'est un nuageux dix-neuf degrés Celsius à Paris ce soir..._” and Kurt tries to breathe. Despite growing up so close to Canada, he’s never been out of the country before, and his ultimate dream country to visit has been France. Even though he knows he’s not here on a sight-seeing trip, it’s still insanely exciting to get out of the United States, to see _Paris freaking France_ with his own two eyes, and he has to forcibly make himself sit still in his seat. However, despite carefully schooling his body to look calm, his toes tap frantically in his shoes and he absently flicks the barbell in his tongue against his teeth with dull _clicks_.

Sebastian had gone over the ground rules before they had gotten to the airport: no English whatsoever would be spoken unless they were alone (so the locals will see him as one of their own and he won’t get swindled while shopping); no touristy visits (because Paris is better experienced if one avoids the obvious cash-bait and takes to the streets); no bars or clubs (which obviously isn’t a hardship for Kurt, despite having a surprising amount of fun in New York’s night scene the past two weeks); and no visiting the 10th arrondissement (it had been Sebastian’s hell for over a year, where he had hidden out after Nicolas had left and where he had nearly died, and he’d admitted that he was worried about what he’d do if put in close proximity to familiar faces with familiar drugs in familiar places).

Of course, Sebastian hadn’t forbidden the first two, but Kurt sees the logic in it. As for the French, he’s been practising with Sebastian to get his sentence structure and word usage down as well as he possibly can so he doesn’t sound too out of place, and Sebastian’s given him a thumbs up in that regard. Sure, he’ll probably slip up a few times, since American terms can be so different than European ones, but that’s easily explained by holidays to the States or simple television binges. And as for the touristy bit, Kurt’s not even that upset. He’s still never been to the New York tourist traps like the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State building (though he has been to Rockefeller Centre, _naturally_, and then of course Times Square during Nationals his senior year of high school, though he doesn’t count that last one), and he understands as a city dweller that it’s the lesser-known places that really show the charm and style of a city, so it’s not upsetting or difficult to bypass the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre in exchange for the simple, local dive. Again, Kurt knows it’s not a field trip, so it’s not like he has any plans to hop from one place to another like an overenthusiastic sightseer.

And to be honest, he’s really happy and excited about just slipping into the cracks of the city, as if slotting into the everyday life of a simple Parisian. Though he knows that this trip is going to one of the hardest things he’s ever done (and that’s not even taking _Sebastian_ into consideration, who will be feeling infinitely worse), it’s still ridiculously romantic to think about.

Speaking of Sebastian.

He’s been silent ever since the plane had first taken off from JFK, nodding or shaking his head to questions but not speaking a single word. He’s had his earbuds in fairly consistently, simply staring past Kurt to the sky outside the window, not even getting up once for the loo or to simply stretch his legs during the eight-ish hour flight. Kurt’s let him be, engaging in the occasional light-hearted conversation with Mr Smythe when Sebastian’s father isn’t dozing, because Sebastian needs to get into a somewhat safe mindset before he disembarks onto familiar soil filled with horrible memories brought into the light.

Kurt’s exhausted, as only travelling for long periods can do, but he hasn’t slept, just being a quiet presence at Sebastian’s side. Still, while it’s been a pretty good trip, as they are flying first class (and Kurt still feels weird about that, about the money that surely was spent to get his seat), he’s just ready to get off the plane and into Sebastian’s maman’s flat, where they’ll have dinner and catch some sleep before the trials start.

He’s thankful for both Sebastian and himself that they aren’t required to attend the prosecution days. Kurt’s almost afraid of how he’ll react once he’s in the same room as Nicolas Juppé, and he’s grateful that he gets thirteen days to prepare for it (as much as he can prepare, anyway).

Once the city comes into view, he pulls out his mobile, snapping a few pictures of the landscape before he gets told off for having an electronic device powered on. Then, once the attendant patiently beckons him to turn it off, he obligingly obeys, chancing a glance at Sebastian’s carefully composed face before directing all of his attention to the late afternoon skyline of Paris, France.

Then they land on the tarmac, and Sebastian says quietly, “_Bienvenue à Paris, Kurt Hummel._”

Kurt smiles.

* * *

“_Monsieur_ Hummel, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Sebastian’s mother, Armelle Leveque, says lightly.

“_Mademoiselle_ Leveque,” Kurt replies, accepting the kisses that she gives his cheeks (he’s confused when she gives him four, two on each cheek, but no one else seems surprised so he just goes with it). When he pulls back, he takes a proper look at her, as the last time he’d seen her, she had been blotchy and wet from crying. She’s definitely a beautiful woman, and she looks ridiculously like Sebastian: the same brown hair with golden highlights, the same olive skin, the few and occasional freckle, the same mischievous tilt to her smile, the green eyes, the same tall, well-proportioned body. She’s an even forty-years-old, according to Sebastian, but despite the crow’s feet creeping around her eyes and the small lines around her full lips, she still maintains a youthful visage. He’s also in awe of her clothes – sleek, black lines with silver accents, and the red suede flats are the only colour she wears other that the red of her lipstick and nails – that, if Kurt recalls correctly from his fashion magazines, cost about as much as six-months rent at his Bushwick flat.

However, despite her beauty and fashionable clothes, there’s a deep sadness that seeps from her pores. He can see it in her bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, in the rogue she’s put on her cheeks to hide the pallor of her skin, and he internally vows to be gentle with her during this trip. Their last meeting (if it could even be called that) had been brutal, though it had been necessary at the time, but now is a very fragile time for this family, and Kurt’s dedicated to letting them have some space and calm.

Well, unless he’s forced to do otherwise.

“Come in, come in,” she beckons, pulling them into the modern, exquisitely decorated 7th arrondissement flat with gentle hands. Kurt, slightly wide-eyed, takes in the tasteful space, wide open with its white walls and crème accents. A large sitting room is dominated by an L-shaped white couch and pale wood tables, rectangular windows along the entire wall giving the view of the quaint, tree-lined street below. To his immediate right by the terrace doors, there is pale dining table seating eight that is adorned with gleaming cutlery and what appears to be the beginnings of dinner. The kitchen is tucked away to the side, separated from the dining area by a high bar. There’s a corridor on the other side of the sitting room that leads to what Kurt presumes is the living areas, and it is to this corridor that he is led to, with Sebastian at his side.

Ms Leveque opens the first door on her left and says throatily, “This is your bedroom, Sebastian. Of course you must do with it as you wish.” As she rambles on, Kurt takes a quick peek – a similar wall of rectangular windows, a large bed with light green dressing, a small desk and wardrobe in the corner, all in the same light wood as the sitting area – before he’s led by the forearm to the last door on the left. “This will be yours, _Monsieur_ Hummel,” she says, opening the door to a bedroom that looks almost exactly like Sebastian’s, only a little smaller with pale blue dressings. “Please, take a few moments to rest and put away your things. The bath is right next to your room, _Monsieur_ Hummel, and please, both of you should freshen up if you wish, though you look marvellous, darlings.”

Kurt smiles at her with a murmur of thanks, and Ms Leveque turns to head towards the sitting room. From their doorways, Kurt and Sebastian look at each other for a long moment, green into glasz, and then Kurt says airily, “Dibs on the bathroom.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes half-heartedly, and then they both move simultaneously into their rooms.

Kurt leaves his suitcase and garment for the moment, sitting down primly on the edge of the bed. God, but he’s exhausted, and all he really wants to do is toe off his shoes, curl under the soft blankets, and watch the sun set through the windows before he falls asleep. He knows he can’t though – dinners in France are long, drawn out affairs, apparently, and despite wanting to nap, he needs to tidy up before they start their early meal.

So he lets out a weary sigh, picks himself up, and then grabs his toiletry bag so he can freshen up in the loo.

He feels awkward roaming even the few steps to the loo, a stranger in an unfamiliar home filled with vaguely familiar people, and he shuts the door behind him so the inhabitants know it’s occupied. Then he proceeds to fix his lightly mussed hair, splash water on his face, and generally put his poker face on before he goes to socialise in the main area of the flat. As he stares himself down in the mirror, there’s a light tap on the door that startles him, but he composes himself quickly and opens the door a crack, relieved when it’s only Sebastian.

“Hey,” Sebastian greets in a rough whisper, and it’s the first thing that Kurt’s heard from Sebastian’s vocal chords in over a day, other than his words when their aeroplane had touched down. He nudges the door open a smidge so he can glance at himself in the mirror, his eyes flat, and says, “You ready to face all my crazy relatives?”

Kurt takes a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and then gives Sebastian a confident smile that’s only half forced. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replies, and then opens the door fully, following Sebastian back out into the lion’s den.

The six adults in the room don’t pause their conversations when they enter the room, and Kurt trails Sebastian towards the dining area, sitting down in the only empty seat left once Sebastian’s sat as well. Kurt expected that his seat would be next to Sebastian, of course, but he shoots Ms Leveque a small smile in thanks regardless, and she returns the smile with a gentle one of her own. He’s sat in the middle of the table, Sebastian on his left side and Mr Smythe on his right – at the heads of the table, the grandfathers (Maximillian Smythe and Louis Leveque) sit with their cocktails, and to their sides are their wives (Lorraine and Marguerite, respectively). Directly across from Kurt is Ms Leveque, who is now chatting comfortably with her mother.

There are too many Smythes and Leveques in one place, and so Kurt decides that first names, at least in his head, are probably wise.

The family is polite despite the undercurrent of tension, and they seem genuinely curious about Kurt himself. He patiently answers all the standard first-meeting questions – his own family, what he’s going to school for, his internship at Vogue, what he thinks of New York – and only feels awkward when they ask for his side of the story on how Sebastian and Kurt met. He doesn’t lie, telling him that they hadn’t liked each other at first (though he deliberately omits a good chunk of the _why_), and though Sebastian doesn’t interject with his own quips, Kurt still feels his green eyes watching him as he tells the stories.

Armelle, Marguerite, and Kurt spend a lot of time talking fashion, which Kurt had expected; Armelle is a fashion photographer, and her mother is a connoisseur herself, so it’s an easy back-and-forth while everyone else talks business or sports. Still, the strain is there, Sebastian’s family constantly staring at Sebastian in that pitying way that even has Kurt inwardly cringing. Kurt hasn’t an idea on how to at least alleviate it a bit, so the entire dinner doesn’t feel like someone’s dangling a metaphorical knife over their heads. It’s not even really his place to try, really, because he’s a guest and outlier to this whole thing.

They steadily make their way through the starter (some sort of garlic soup) and mains (a roast lamb that is utterly phenomenal, surrounded by onions and potatoes and mushrooms and garlic, as well as a side of roasted vegetables), and Kurt is already full by the time Armelle’s bringing out the cheeses and bread. He has no idea how they eat so much without looking like balloons, but a part of Kurt knows that it’s somewhat his own fault – he’s been eating a lot less than normal lately, a combination of lack of appetite due to grief over Finn as well as keeping pace with Sebastian, who still eats like a bird even _when_ Kurt’s guilting him into eating. So he’s not entirely surprised that he’s utterly stuffed already, even despite matching Sebastian’s bites; it seems like Sebastian’s eating quite a bit, really, but with his self-imposed abstaining from food, Kurt knows he’s probably close to bursting himself.

Kurt eyes the cheese plate, looks at Sebastian, and gives him a playful grimace. Sebastian just nods in solidarity, though he still looks distant, and mouths ‘_I know_’ in English.

His red is replaced by a white (and God, he’s never had so much wine in his _life_, but he supposes it goes with the whole foray into a French dining experience), and as he’s never really had a real cheese plate before, he follows Sebastian’s lead, selecting the same one he does. Once Sebastian’s taken a nibble, he follows suit, the sharp flavour hitting his tongue like a barge. It’s good, if a little strong, and he reaches immediately for his wine, taking a sip of the wine and then taking a few seconds to marvel at how it mixes with the flavour, making it somehow delicious and sweet rather than overbearing.

It’s then that the topic comes up.

“What will you both be doing while we are at court?” asks Louis in his rumbling voice, and Kurt feels the chill shudder down his spine.

There’s a moment of tense silence, and then Sebastian manages to say quietly, “_March__é__ aux Puces_, I think, if only to get the retail therapy out of the way.”

Armelle hums under her breath, eyes downcast and the skin surrounding tight, and replies with a forced air of pleasure, “That sounds lovely, darling. If you find any bluebirds, you should send a photograph to Christina. She’s thinking of redecorating her conservatory in them, you know.”

Theodore Smythe nods in confirmation, and Kurt can’t help but feel a bit of awe. Kurt had always been under the impression that after divorce – especially marriages filled with infidelity and explosive fights like Theodore and Armelle’s had been at the end, and particularly with the lengthy and cutting legal battle that resulted in Armelle all but fleeing the States with their two children – the ex-couple would inevitably hate each other. But it isn’t like that between Theodore and Armelle. They’re friendly, from what Sebastian’s said, and Armelle is rather close to Nina as well, both of them constantly talking on their mobiles and texting. Kurt doesn’t really understand it, and he half-wonders if Theodore or Nina blames Armelle for everything that’s happened, but in any case, he’s glad regardless. His parents are a united front in this, which is a lot better than the two of them at each other’s throats, bringing even more stress and anxiety into an already turbulent situation.

The rest of dinner is mercifully free of talk about the trials, but the tension is still heavy.

* * *

Kurt hears it in the silence of the flat, about twenty minutes after everyone leaves.

He blinks the jet lag-induced sleepiness from his eyes and pads his way to the door, all before he truly registers what he’s hearing. He opens his bedroom door and pauses, listening, and he can still hear it, coming from the bathroom. He hesitates then, wondering if he should even intervene. He doesn’t know if Sebastian would appreciate the interruption, and there’s no telling what state he’s in – Kurt himself hates it when people see him being sick, and Sebastian’s retching almost violently, from the painful sound of it.

Still, Kurt can’t do nothing, so he tentatively advances on the door to the bathroom and knocks. When only raw dry heaves answer, he inhales and holds his breath, glancing behind him absently. He starts when he sees Armelle, the only person left in the flat other than Kurt and Sebastian, in the middle of the archway separating the sitting room from the corridor. She’s ashen despite the rogue on her cheeks, and her hazel-green eyes are so _haunted_ that it takes Kurt’s breath away like a kick to the solar plexus.

Kurt opens his mouth to speak, to comfort, but he doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he turns away almost reluctantly and turns the doorknob, letting himself into the bathroom.

Sebastian’s curled over the toilet, still in his clothes from the day. His hands are clenched on the rim, tight enough to turn his fingers and knuckles white, and even from his position at the half-open doorway, Kurt can see that Sebastian’s shaking in between the gags.

Kurt closes the door behind him, Armelle already forgotten, and wets one of the cream-coloured flannels with cool water, eventually sitting down on the chilly tiles of the floor next to Sebastian’s left side. He raises the flannel and begins wiping the sweat from the back of Sebastian’s neck, his right hand rubbing his bony back through the soft fabric of his shirt. He hums lowly, waiting for the fit to pass, and eventually Sebastian slumps against the toilet, breathing in harsh pants and pressing his forehead against the cool porcelain.

Kurt’s not sure how long they sit there, Kurt methodically wiping any of Sebastian’s face and neck that he can with the flannel as he lightly caresses the harshly visible knobs of Sebastian’s spine with his fingernails. The silence is only occasionally broken when Sebastian tenses and starts heaving again, nothing coming out but a thin, pale bile. Kurt’s never had a weak stomach, so the smell and sight of Sebastian’s dinner in the bowl doesn’t bother him (much), but he still reaches out once to press the button for a flush, careful not to let the damp flannel touch the porcelain top.

Eventually, Kurt asks quietly, “Do you want some water to rinse out your mouth, or would you rather brush your teeth?”

Sebastian’s silent for a long moment, just breathing, his face flushed from the force of his vomiting, and then whispers in a raw, choked voice, “You—you need to promise me something.”

Kurt bites back the instinctual reply of ‘_Anything, Sebastian_’. He doesn’t want to make a promise that he can’t keep, and Sebastian’s too exposed, too stripped, to be trusted completely right now. There are too many things that Sebastian could request right now – to be left alone, to be ignored, for drugs, to _let him die_ – that Kurt has to refuse. Instead, he says softly, “What?”

“Promise that...” He clears his throat, spits thickly, and continues in an almost silent murmur, “Promise me that you’ll eat.”

That isn’t what Kurt had expected, so he takes a few seconds to gather his thoughts. He knows what Sebastian’s getting at: over the next two (or more, realistically) weeks, Sebastian’s not going to have any appetite whatsoever, and considering Kurt’s not-so-subtle manipulations to only eat when Sebastian does, it’ll inevitably lead to Kurt starving too. It’s thoughtful regardless, but Kurt’s not sure if it’s because Sebastian doesn’t want to feel guilty on top of everything else or if he genuinely doesn’t want Kurt to suffer in solidarity. It’s probably a mixture of both, anyway.

A part of Kurt wants to say no, to continue guilting Sebastian into eating with underhanded tactics, but he doesn’t want Sebastian to stomach his way through that as well, no matter what his reasons are. So he says, genuinely, “I’ll eat when I’m hungry if that’ll make you feel better.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond immediately, just staring into the water in the toilet, but he eventually manages to rasp out, “Thanks. I...I didn’t—”

“I know,” Kurt interjects.

Sebastian seems to lose all the tension in his body at once and slumps to the side. Kurt simply sighs and rubs Sebastian’s back once more before he pushes himself to stand. After some rummaging, he finds tiny, disposable cups in one of the drawers of the sink and fills one up with cool water, handing it to Sebastian. Kurt scratches his bare shoulder – he’d been halfway through undressing for bed when he’d heard Sebastian getting sick, and he’s surprised at how unconcerned he feels about only being in pyjama bottoms in front of Sebastian – and shoots Sebastian one last look before he slips out to grab his toiletries.

Once he closes the door of the loo, he sees Armelle sitting on the hardwood floor of the archway, her entire body shaking with silent sobs. He hesitates for a second, then advances on her, squatting so he can lay a hand on her dainty shoulder. “He’ll be okay,” he whispers, his own eyes stinging as everything catches up to him. “I’ll take care of him, so just try and...try to get some sleep. You’ve a long day tomorrow.”

Armelle nods through her tears, hiding her face with her hands, and he helps her stand up. She turns away from him and makes her way through the sitting room before she disappears into another corridor that leads to her bedroom. He watches her leave, and once he hears a distant click of a door shutting, he sighs heavily and goes into his own room, grabbing his toiletries and returning to the bathroom.

Sebastian’s up now, looking into the sink as he tiredly brushes his teeth, and Kurt nudges him to the side with a light, teasing bump of their hips. Once he’s claimed his own side, he starts preparing for bed himself, brushing his own teeth absently. He tries not to watch as Sebastian finishes up and then sits down on the covered toilet, hands on his thighs as his eyes gaze at his shaking fingers, and it’s easier once Kurt begins washing and moisturising his face with long-practised movements.

When he’s finished cleaning up both himself and the sink itself, wary of leaving a mess despite the household service that Sebastian’s mentioned Armelle employs, he sighs again and leaves his products on the large sink, opting instead to lightly grasp Sebastian’s elbow so he can urge him to stand. He leads them both out of the loo, bypassing his own bedroom for Sebastian’s.

He guides them both in and gets Sebastian into bed, the entire process reminiscent of a few months ago, and despite the fact that he hasn’t even been out of the flat yet except on the cab ride from Charles de Gaulle, he wishes that this was all over, that they were settling Sebastian into his Manhattan apartment while simultaneously taking classes. He wishes this was in the past, the trial and sentencing and Paris entirely. They can always come back, Sebastian’s said multiple times, in the middle of reiterating that _this_ trip is going to be horrible – and he’s not wrong, despite the fact that it hasn’t even started yet. Still, Kurt doesn’t regret ignoring Sebastian’s almost subconscious push to talk Kurt into staying in New York, to avoid the shitstorm of it all. It’s hard, on Kurt and most definitely on Sebastian, but he wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world.

“Good night, Sebastian,” Kurt murmurs, turning away after Sebastian laid in bed, sheets up to his neck, but he doesn’t make it far, because Sebastian reaches out, his fingers brushing the bare skin of Kurt’s forearm. They stare at each other for a moment but nothing needs to be said. Kurt can see his words in the shattered green of his eyes, in the shaking of his fingers against Kurt’s skin, in the flat line of his mouth.

Kurt simply smiles and acquiesces to the unspoken plea, climbing into Sebastian’s bed and burrowing under the cool sheets, slowly becoming warmer with their combined body heat.

Sleep doesn’t come for a long time; they waste away the hours simply by being in each other’s space, not quite touching but close enough to comfort.

* * *

Kurt sips his coffee, picking absently at his half-eaten croissant as he watches Paris fly by.

Sebastian is nursing his own coffee, black as pitch and contrasting against the stark white of the mug, as he smokes. He looks like the stereotypical Frenchman: enjoying a coffee and cigarette, tall and poignant in his classy, stark clothes, sunglasses hiding the green of his eyes, even if the effect is ruined by the fact that Sebastian’s a ball of sick, curling tension.

Kurt’s still not used to Paris yet. It’s familiar with its hustle and bustle of city life: tourists clogging up the transportation and pavements, widely varied boutiques and cafés and museums in between the corporate buildings and banks, the quick and constant pace of vehicles and pedestrians, the smell of food and smog and urine and polluted water (though there’s the added cloud of cigarette smoke _everywhere_, which is quite different from America with its actually-enforced smoking bans, and to be honest he’d thought that the French smoking thing was a myth). But it’s so different from New York in other ways; in fact, when it comes to the people themselves, it reminds Kurt more of _Ohio_ than New York. Yes, Parisians are better dressed, but the people are friendlier, more apt to sit down and have long, familiar conversations, more at ease to converse with and even touch strangers. It’s very _Midwest_, rather than the cool efficiency and biting ruthlessness of New York, and while Kurt can see how the French might seem rude – with their affinity to speaking their mind without being bothered by things like political correctness or general tact – it’s actually kind of refreshing to have that small-town feel in such a big, famous city. New York is still home, but Kurt could fall in love with this place just as completely if he allowed himself to.

It’s the fifth day of the trials, and the fourth day they’ve spent faffing about in Paris. They’ve been exploring together, and Sebastian’s been better outside the tense atmosphere of the flat or the two dinners they’ve had with family in the city. He’s not a ball of sunshine of course, and the air of depression and sickness practically radiates from his pores, but he’s been calm, willing to show Kurt the sights and talk quietly of things he done or seen during his time here. It’s been nice, almost comforting, to just get lost in a city that holds so many good and bad memories for Sebastian.

Today though...today is different. Today is _bad_.

When they’d both arrived at the flat right before dinner the previous night, it had been apparent that something was wrong. Armelle had locked herself in her bedroom as soon as Sebastian’s family had returned from court, and the others had simply been sitting in the sitting room, drinking rather heavily, by the time Kurt and Sebastian had walked through the door. The atmosphere had hit them like a barge, causing Sebastian to stumble back a few steps, his face utterly grey and eyes wide and panicked, and the first thought that had formed in Kurt’s mind was _oh God, they’ve shown his testimony_.

They hadn’t, though. After Sebastian had all but fled to his own bedroom, Louis had said to a frozen Kurt without prompt, “They’re showing it tomorrow, according to the docket. If it is anything like the other testimonies, I do not know if we are ready to hear it.”

Kurt had fled himself after that, and the two of them had holed up in Sebastian’s room until the family left the next morning, Sebastian shaking and twitching and dry heaving in between the three honest-to-fucking-God panic attacks during the course of the night.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Kurt says.

Sebastian finishes his cigarette, putting the cherry out on the bottom of his shoe and then shoving the fag-end through the tiny drinking slot in the disposable coffee cup they’d purchased earlier that morning. He’s been carrying it around since then, as Kurt had nearly had a coronary when he’d flicked his first cigarette butt into the streets; Kurt’s fully aware that everyone in France seems to throw their finished cigarettes into the gutters, but Kurt refuses to allow Sebastian to do the same because it’s _vile_.

He lights up another immediately and mumbles absently through a cloud of smoke, “Where?” Kurt’s not sure if his voice is so rough because of his chain smoking (he’s gone through two full packs and almost a third in six hours), or because of his lack of sleep, or from the panic attacks, or from the fact that he’s been practically inhaling coffee at an alarming rate for two days but hasn’t even had a sip of water.

Kurt thinks for a few seconds, and then says, “The Channel.”

That seems to get Sebastian’s attention. “Why?” he asks in a more alert voice, his body unfolding a bit. He’s been curled into himself for hours now, long enough that Kurt figures that Sebastian’s entire body is aching from it, and it’s glorious to see Sebastian somewhat engaged instead of a black hole of internal misery, inaccessible and untouchable.

“Because neither one of us wants to go back to your mum’s place, especially since it’s Friday. We’ll be stuck there for the entire weekend, or they’ll want to come with us into the city, and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather avoid the histrionics and sip a glass of wine on the beach instead.” When Sebastian just stares at him, Kurt adds, “It’s either that or Belgium. Or London.”

“We are _not_ going to London,” Sebastian retorts immediately, and he almost sounds like himself, all indignant and teasingly petulant. Kurt fights back the wide, joyous smile that threatens to bloom on his face, though he figures that Sebastian can see the delight in his eyes.

“Oh, are you keeping that stereotypical ‘French-Good-British-Bad’ caveman mentality alive?” Kurt jokes.

“Shut up; London’s disgusting. Belgium, on the other hand, has _Stromae_.”

“And _so much shopping_.”

“The beach it is,” Sebastian hastily decides, and Kurt _laughs_.

* * *

Kurt watches the waves break.

Everything feels so disjointed, like one long, never-ending day that’s dragging on and making time unmeasurable. Between the stress of the environment during this visit, the distinct lack of sleep he’s gotten since touching down in France, the absent hunger gnawing at his stomach due to his own personal lack of appetite, and his constant worry about Sebastian, he feels like he’s in a choppy, shattered dream. He remembers some things with clarity, but most of it runs together in ways that his tired brain can’t process. He wants to sleep, to go home, to talk to his dad, to beat Sebastian with a tire wrench until his memory disappears and he can start over.

None of that is possible right now.

Seven more days.

Seven more days until it’s over, and eight more days until they’re back on familiar ground, in New York, _home_.

Kurt watches the waves break, and then turns back to Sebastian.

“I never thought I’d see you sloppy-drunk,” Kurt admits finally, the smile on his face tight but genuine. “You’re always all debonair and poised when you’re drinking, though I suppose I’ve never seen you this plastered before either.”

Sebastian’s, who is literally face down in the sand with an empty bottle of vodka in hand, looks up. Kurt cringes in mute sympathy, because he has an idea how it feels to Sebastian as he drags his face through said sand to place his chin on the ground. His face is covered, so his eyes are closed tightly, but he slurs, “Imma ‘undred and twenty pounds and jus’ downed a bottle o’ vodka in an ‘our. ‘M allowed liberties.”

“If you start throwing up, I’m taking you to hospital, Sebastian,” Kurt vows seriously. Kurt’s worried, and knows Sebastian’s in a bad place right now, but for some unfathomable reason, Kurt still trusts that Sebastian knows his limits in his emaciated state. Mind, if there’s the slightest hint of alcohol poisoning, he’s going to follow through on his threat, but right now he’s just worried, not terrified.

Though the thought that Sebastian, all six-foot-one of him, is _one hundred and twenty pounds_ is heart-stopping. He swallows past the toxic, thick lump in his throat, trying not to cry.

They have to head back to the city tomorrow, as they’ve promised to be back for Monday’s dinner. Kurt figures that Sebastian’s entitled to get hammered on the day before, especially since he’s abstained from alcohol since they’ve arrived in Barfleur for their weekend getaway, and has an inkling that Sebastian wants to be hungover on Monday so his family will leave the inquisition for another day. Kurt doesn’t like it whatsoever, but Sebastian’s an adult, and if he wants to avoid the inevitable, then it’s not Kurt’s place to stop him. Well, to a point. Kurt had made Sebastian promise to not hurt himself and Sebastian had agreed, so Kurt places his fragile trust in that promise. He just hopes that Sebastian’s mental instability will be outweighed by the prospect of guilt if he has to force Kurt to call an ambulance.

Kurt’s not sure if it’ll be enough, but considering Sebastian’s plea that first night for Kurt to eat, he has...well, faith, he supposes.

When they finally make it back to their hotel, they climb into bed together – they have spent the entire time in France in each other’s beds, usually Sebastian’s, and he’s almost surprised at how he’s not uncomfortable with it – and this time, instead of the slight distance between them, Sebastian wraps around him like an octopus, smelling of dry skin and salt and man.

They don’t talk about it in the morning, when they wake up wrapped around each other and Sebastian’s hungover as hell, but for the rest of the trip, the boundaries are even more lowered than before.

* * *

No one brings up Sebastian’s testimony when they return, though it hangs over them like a suffocating weight.

* * *

Sebastian’s suit had been tailored a few weeks before the trip to Paris.

By Kurt’s estimate, he’s probably lost another five pounds, and likely more, since then, and it’s evident in the way that Sebastian’s clothes are baggy and almost sloppy on his skinny, pale frame (and fuck, if that’s true, then he’s in the _teens_ now, and Kurt has to swallow down the panic). It’s still a magnificent suit, no doubt about it, but Sebastian looks _bad_ in it, unpolished and disorganised.

Sebastian’s inherited his mother’s keen eye for tasteful fashion, contrary to Kurt’s initial belief, and therefore Sebastian hates looking messy and unkempt. Sure, his ‘clubbing clothes’ leave something to be desired, but Kurt’s now aware that he only dresses like a stereotypical prep boy when partying because of easy access and the simple fact that the clothes themselves are probably going to be ripped off his body by some man (or three) over the course of a night out, and probably subjected to spilt alcohol and other nefarious bodily fluids. It saves Sebastian from destroying his proper clothes, and while all of Sebastian’s clothes are designer and therefore expensive, it’s better to ruin a collared polo from some cheaper designer than something from Ralph Lauren or Diesel.

At the moment, Kurt’s in Sebastian’s space, hands smoothing down excess fabric as if it’ll make it disappear, straightening how the suit fits as if it’s not going to go lopsided the second Sebastian moves. He makes his face as impassive as he can, trying not to let his concern and simmering anger show as he works, but he’s not sure how well it’s working. Not that Sebastian will be able to tell, anyway – he’s completely disassociated from his surroundings. Kurt’s keenly aware that Sebastian’s been flipping between almost clearheaded cognisance and the complete inability to even cover himself with a blanket when he’s cold, and he knows that Sebastian’s literally and actively having a mental breakdown. Kurt just does what he can to keep Sebastian comfortable, and hates the fact that there’s nothing more that he can do to make Sebastian feel better. Or at least alleviate some of the stress.

In a way, he wants to march out to the sitting room, where Sebastian’s family is waiting, and tell them to shove their deal up their arses because Sebastian’s not at all capable of doing this. The ball of worry that’s been lodged in his chest since learning the truth in March has expanded to this..._thing_ that he can feel in every molecule of his body. Even Kurt’s hair is lank and unwilling to cooperate due to stress and worry, though Kurt admittedly hadn’t really done much with it. For the third day in a row, he’s neglected his skincare, his hair, everything. Today’s the first day in almost a week that Kurt’s even gotten out of his pyjamas, for God’s sake. Sebastian himself has been in sweatpants and a threadbare Dalton lacrosse shirt, both of which he’s lost in due to his weight loss, and hadn’t even showered until today, opting instead to curl into a ball on his (their?) bed, cocooned in blankets and still cold regardless.

But he knows he can’t. It was part of the deal, and as Theodore had told Kurt on the flight over: “While it might seem heartless to you, Sebastian will know, at that moment, without a single doubt, that that sonofabitch is going away for what he did. It might not hit him while it’s happening, but Sebastian will look back on this day in twenty years, happy he was there for the verdict, to watch that bastard be removed from the courtroom in chains. It _will_ give him closure, even if he might be incapable of recognising it in the moment.”

Kurt doesn’t disagree, though he feels like he should.

“Sebastian,” Kurt says, hoping that his words will at least be subconsciously registered in Sebastian’s brain. He laces his fingers in between Sebastian’s lax, unresponsive ones, and continues, “I want you to know that I’m here for you, and I am not letting go of your hand. If you need to leave, we can leave. If you need some air, we can get you some air. But I will not let go, okay? So just focus on my hand, and know that no matter what, it’s not going to disappear.”

Sebastian doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look up from his shoes, but after a long moment of just breathing, Sebastian’s fingers curl against his, solid and there.

* * *

Kurt plays the role of Human Shield.

There are cameras everywhere outside, reporters yelling questions and angry Parisians holding signs in support of the victims. Kurt pulls Sebastian in close, and the rest of the family close ranks around them, trying to keep Sebastian out of sight of the cameras as much as possible. Sebastian’s surprisingly the most well-known face of the victims, due to a wide variety of reasons: Theodore being an elected politician in the United States, the Smythes and Leveques being old aristocratic families in America and France respectively, Armelle’s notoriety as a fashion photographer and columnist, and the fact that the Leveques are real estate moguls in Europe while the Smythes are from a family of oil tycoons (though apparently Theodore is the younger brother of the heir to that fortune, so he’ll never inherit, and was allegedly a bit of a problem child himself).

Since Sebastian hasn’t been seen at the trials, the reporters are loud and abrasive at the brief glimpses of him, but the progression of Smythes and Leveques (plus Kurt) simply move to the courtroom without a single word in response.

Inside is a mess of tension and anticipation. The courtroom is devoid of reporters, thank _God_, but in exchange, it’s filled with family and other assorted loved ones of the victims themselves. Some of them are _so young_, the youngest being the girl – Sophia Rousseau, if he remembers correctly – who had gotten the whole investigation started by reporting the rape, whereas the oldest are in perhaps their mid- to late-twenties.

The victims themselves are easy to spot. Despite the vast majority of them looking cool and collected, but angry as fuck, it’s apparent who they are by how they’re surrounded by supporters. Most of them are pressed against a crying or furious older woman – the mothers who had been oblivious or alternatively threatened into keeping quiet, Kurt presumes, and it’s fairly clear to see which are the former and which are the latter.

Sebastian gets a lot of sympathetic and worried looks, and some of them even try to engage him in conversation, which makes Sebastian shrink even further into himself as he grips Kurt’s hand harder and harder. Kurt hastily asks Theodore where they’re to sit, and Kurt’s grateful when he doesn’t protest, simply sitting them in the middle of the right-hand side. Armelle follows them, keeping Sebastian close on the other side, but the grandparents converse with anyone that heads in their direction, politely discouraging any contact with Sebastian. Kurt makes a mental note to thank them when this is all over.

Sebastian’s huddled in on himself, his spine curled as if he wants to disappear, but despite his total disassociation with his surroundings, he continues to squeeze Kurt’s hand in a death grip. Kurt knows that his palm’s growing damp with the constant contact, and that his hand’s going to be stiff and achy once they disconnect, but he won’t let go, giving Sebastian that constant rock that he can concentrate on instead of the hundred or so people in the courtroom.

After what feels like hours, they’re asked to take their seats. Conversation ceases immediately, the tension in the room skyrocketing exponentially, as everyone follows the order. Kurt and Sebastian are bracketed by Armelle and Theodore, plus their respective parents to their sides, and so Kurt is able to focus on Sebastian and the proceedings rather than constantly being cognisant of onlookers. He can feel stares on the back of his head, but despite the prickling of the hairs on his neck, Kurt ignores them, covering his and Sebastian’s entwined hands with his free one.

Kurt exhales shakily when Sebastian tilts closer, their bodies pressed together as tightly as they can manage and Sebastian’s temple pressed against Kurt’s. At the same time, Theodore moves closer to Kurt’s side and whispers in his right ear, “They’re going to bring Juppé in next, and then we’ll all have to stand for the judge. Try to get Sebastian up when that happens, but if he can’t manage it, that’s okay, alright?”

Kurt nods once, curtly, and focusses his attention to the front of the courtroom.

Kurt’s not sure what he expected when he lays eyes on Nicolas Juppé for the first time. He’s avoided googling the trial or the man himself, unlike his roommates back home (who all inevitably found out because of Sam, who was told by Blaine, and Kurt is still furious about it), so other than Sebastian’s vague descriptive terms – tall, dark haired, dark eyed, ‘gorgeous’ – he had had no idea what the man looked like.

Sebastian’s not wrong: Nicolas Juppé _is_ a ridiculously attractive man. He’s tall, though more Kurt’s height than Sebastian’s, with long limbs that are strong but not bulky and clad in a perfectly tailored, steel grey suit. His skin is golden brown, stretched over sharp bone structure and sinewy muscle that speaks of a healthy man in his prime. His face is elegant, aristocratic even, with shapely lips, deep brown eyes framed in lush eyelashes, a straight and slightly upturned nose, and thick but groomed eyebrows. His hair is thick and luscious, slightly wavy and impeccably styled. But the most attractive thing about him is how he holds himself though – graceful sophistication, easy charm, and total confidence.

When he imagines serial rapists and child molesters, Nicolas Juppé is the complete opposite of what Kurt would expect. Instead, he’s the type of man that turns heads of all genders, the type of man that Kurt himself would gape at if he didn’t know what he was or what he was capable of, which is all so true for all the women and children he’s ensnared over the years.

Kurt swallows down the acidic bile that burns his throat, and when Sebastian goes utterly still and stops breathing, wide green eyes staring at his rapist with a sickening mix of fear and adoration, Kurt’s vision goes red.

The ringing in his ears blocks out all sound, and so he doesn’t hear the call for the judge. Sebastian is shaking like a leaf but he still stands, neck straining over the people in front as if _searching_ for that monster, and Kurt sees Armelle to Sebastian’s left, her own green eyes agonised and swollen with tears. They make eye contact once before Armelle looks behind him, probably towards Theodore, and he can’t imagine what Sebastian’s parents are thinking right now as they watch their only remaining child who’s alive stare at that piece of filth with such terror and reverence.

It’s utterly terrifying to actually _see_ the effects of a manipulation so deeply rooted in Sebastian’s very psyche that even though he’s been raped and victimised, even though his sister _killed herself_ because of those same reasons, Sebastian is still taken in by Nicolas Juppé, still _yearns_ for him.

As the final day of the trial begins, Kurt realises that his fears of Sebastian being wrecked by panic attacks or even fleeing the courtroom itself are unfounded, because in its place Sebastian simply stares at the back of Juppé’s head, barely breathing, those two warring emotions playing on his face in endless repeat.

And the worst part is that he can see the same emotions on the faces of many victims in the room, even the ones who had seemed angry enough to murder just twenty minutes before.

Kurt can’t help the furious, but helpless tears that start to fall as he squeezes Sebastian’s suddenly slack hand. He feels Armelle and Theodore both wrap their closest arms around both of their backs, all of them connected, and it feels safe, like a buffer. Still, Kurt wants to wrap his fingers around Juppé’s neck until he can’t breathe, wants to scratch at his eyes and face until there’s nothing left of that visage that’s enraptured his victims, wants to hit and hit and _hit_ until he can’t muster the energy to hit anymore. He is _so angry_, and he feels Theodore grasp his forearm in a tight grip, murmuring in his ear in English, “_You need to calm down, Kurt. Disassociate yourself. Go to wherever your happy place is. Calm down, Kurt._”

Kurt does as he’s told, as best he can. He remembers their last week in New York before Paris, both of them lounging on the balcony of Sebastian’s hotel room, Sebastian smoking a cigarette and laughing hysterically as Kurt all but drowned himself in sunscreen. He remembers singing with Rachel at the Gershwin Theatre, feeling like he was where he belonged. He remembers watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ with his mum, both of them curled cocooned in a soft blanket under the glow of their Christmas tree, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate and lilies in the air. He remembers seeing a live show of a North African singer, her Arabic words haunting and beautiful, as Sebastian and Kurt sipped Turkish coffee and bumped knees under the small, round table of Kurt’s favourite Mediterranean eatery in Brooklyn. He remembers how it felt to have Blaine beneath him after sex, their bodies slow and sticky and at ease, their breath mingling as they shared lazy kisses and breathed words of affection and love against skin. He remembers staring down at that admissions letter at NYADA’s Winter Showcase, completely blown away and having to rush into a supply closet just to _cry_.

He distantly hears the closing arguments from the prosecution and defence, and then suddenly he’s pulled from his desperately recalled memories when he’s pushed to stand. He watches as Juppé is led out, and suddenly, as his impassive eyes take in the standing crowd, his eyes seem to fall onto Sebastian. His entire emotionless expression shifts into something chilling, eyes intent and greedy as if he’s eyeing a rare prize, and then he mouths something, something that makes Sebastian freeze before his knees seem to lose their ability to hold his weight.

They collapse on the long, wooden bench and Sebastian’s hyperventilating, his face grey and shaking so hard he’s actually _vibrating_ from it, Sebastian’s hand suddenly clenching his so tightly that Kurt actually _feels_ his own bones snap (he can’t quite manage to smother his gasp of pain). There’s an immediate shift in the crowd, bodies instinctively hiding Sebastian from Juppé’s view, and there are people everywhere, both screaming at Juppé as he’s hurried out and pushing close to soothe. It’s not soothing though, and Kurt is pushed to the side so Theodore can literally scoop Sebastian into his arms. Kurt can’t let go of Sebastian’s hand because the grip is so tight, not that he would anyway because he _promised_, so he’s dragged along helplessly as they flee the courtroom, gritting his teeth from the agony radiating up his arm.

They’re directed to an empty conference room, the door slamming behind them as Theodore gently places Sebastian into a plush office chair. Kurt can see Armelle in the corner of his eye, sobbing into her father’s suit, but the rest of the family is absent, probably directing attention away from the conference room. He barely registers it, falling to his knees beside Sebastian and breathing choppily through his gritted teeth as he watches Theodore cup his hands over Sebastian’s nose and mouth. Kurt wants to ask he’s doing, but he’s trying to keep his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth so he won’t cry out himself because _fuck_ his hand _hurts_.

It takes forever for Sebastian to calm down and begin breathing normally; it’s probably close to fifteen minutes before the excruciatingly tight, twitching grip on his hand, which _oh so slowly_ loosens, is lax enough to remove his hand should he want to. Despite every molecule in his body screaming for him to let go, he doesn’t, because he promised. Instead, he inhales shakily and says in a hoarse, strangely high-pitched voice, “Switch?” He holds out his right hand, Sebastian simply staring at it with wet, bloodshot eyes, but Theodore looks at him sharply.

“_Kurt, what’s wrong?_” he asks in English, blue eyes narrowed with concern.

Kurt feels a burst of panic and shakes his head hastily, but it’s too late – Sebastian’s already looking up, green eyes wide and glazed, and Kurt might be an aspiring actor, but he can feel the sweat on his face and lack of blood in his cheeks and there’s no hiding that.

Sebastian’s throat works visibly but he seemingly can’t get his vocal chords to work, mouthing ‘Kurt?’ He reaches out with his shaking left hand, grasping Kurt’s right, and Kurt _finally_ pulls his own left hand out of Sebastian’s loose grip with a shaky exhale, pressing it against his chest as tightly as he can stomach.

“_Oh my God_,” Theodore breathes.

Kurt doesn’t look down – he already knows what he’ll see – and simply smiles tightly at Sebastian, whose eyes are focussed downwards too. “Hey,” he croaks, trying to coax Sebastian to look at him by bringing their clasped hands to Sebastian’s gaunt cheek. He clears his throat and swallows, then continues, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m okay.”

Sebastian’s breathing’s getting quicker, his face so pale and eyes wild, but Theodore makes it worse: “_Jesus Kurt, we need to get you to hospital._” That tips Sebastian over the edge, and he’s hyperventilating once more, the panic and anxiety taking over. Theodore’s cupping his hands over Sebastian’s mouth and nose again, counting his breaths in a soothing murmur, and Kurt just tightens his grip on Sebastian’s hand, feeling the muscles twitching against his fingers because of Sebastian’s inability to control his body’s actions. He doesn’t spare a thought for the possibility of Sebastian hurting _both_ of his hands, simply offering that steadying comfort that he had promised to give.

This time, Kurt counts the seconds, and it’s just over ten minutes before Sebastian’s drooping again, shuddering sporadically and dripping with sweat. He sees a dainty hand run through Sebastian’s damp hair, Armelle’s fingernails scratching his scalp, and as Sebastian recovers, Theodore murmurs almost silently in English, “_You need to go to hospital, and I don’t know if Sebastian can go back in there anyway._”

Kurt shakes his head again. “It’s just a sprain,” he says assuredly in French, though he knows he’s lying – he knows what broken bones feel like, and he knows that if he looks down, he’ll see the proof of it at well. Judging by the expression on Theodore’s face, he knows Kurt’s lying too, but Kurt shoots him a no-nonsense look and tries to convey to Theodore that he needs to drop it, else Sebastian will freak out again. When Theodore gives Kurt a worried glance but nods regardless, Kurt says, “If Sebastian wants to go, we can.” He pauses, then adds with thick venom in his tone, “But if not, I’d very much like to see that motherfucker get _life_, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Surprisingly, Sebastian barks out a loud, borderline hysterical laugh. The room’s occupants freeze at the unexpected sound, and then Kurt exhales, smiles, and gently rests his own damp forehead against Sebastian’s thigh.

He hears the door open and then deep murmurs that he can’t quite make out, and then Louis says quietly, “They’re calling for seats. We need a decision now.”

Everyone’s quiet as they wait for Sebastian to give some sort of sign of what he wants to do. However, he squeezes Kurt’s hand gently and does one better, saying in a rough, but no less determined whisper, “Let’s go back in. I can do this.”

There’s a brief moment of stillness, everyone letting Sebastian’s words settle in their brains, and then Theodore and Armelle help Kurt and Sebastian get to their feet. Sebastian looks at Kurt, his eyes still frantic and fearful but with a glint of determination, and Kurt smiles at him as easily as he can manage before he says, “I’ve got you, pumpkin. Just keep holding my hand.”

The shaky, unsure smile that Sebastian gives Kurt makes his eyes prickle with tears, though he refuses to let them fall.

* * *

The air around them is still tense, but it’s a different _kind_ of tense.

After the verdict had been announced – forty-seven counts of child molestation, forty-seven counts of rape of a minor, and a lorry full of other charges, including one surprising count of involuntary manslaughter, which had had Theodore hissing in victory under his breath – they had been escorted out by a police detail, Sebastian and Kurt both shielded by Leveques and Smythes and a few open newspapers that had been held in front of their faces. Once they were in the saloon car with its tinted windows, Kurt had put up a token protest against going to hospital, and then (once he had been overruled) against Sebastian coming with him.

He hadn’t fought too hard against that last one, since Sebastian had nearly shaken out of his skin from the panic attack that had resulted, even losing consciousness for about ten minutes.

He’s sat on a bed in the A&E of _Hôpital Bichat Claude-Bernard_, one of the premier hospitals in Paris apparently, waiting for the doctor to come back in. His arm is laid on a firm, but soft white pillow, and he tries to avoid looking at it as much as possible. Still, it’s kind of hard to miss: the fingers and knuckles of his four longest fingers are swollen beyond recognition, after two hours of ignoring it (and for continuing to hold Sebastian’s tight, unyielding hand for fifteen-ish minutes after the break, to boot), and his entire fucking hand is purple and blue, with red lines and splotches from broken blood vessels.

He glances at Sebastian, who’s shivering in a chair next to his bed, and wonders how Sebastian had managed to muster up the strength in his emaciated body to do such damage.

To be honest, he’s more worried about Sebastian than his throbbing hand. There’s something off, even more so than usual, and it worries Kurt. He’s waxy looking in the fluorescent lights, but while he’s flushed in the cheeks, he’s also curled into a ball in his chair, shaking with cold. He has his father’s suit jacket over him _and_ a blanket (the doctor and nurses eye Sebastian intently when they’re in the room, obviously more concerned with Sebastian than Kurt’s hand, and rightfully so), but he’s still shivering, his teeth clicking together when he forgets to make an effort to hide it.

Kurt has a feeling that his mind is on heroin, if only to escape for a little while.

The doctor walks in, glances at Sebastian, and then says without any fanfare, “It is broken. We count fourteen different fractures in the second-through-fifth phalanges, though there may be more. I would refer you to an orthopaedic surgeon here in Paris, but as you will be returning to America tomorrow, I would suggest making an appointment with your general physician when you return to your home so you can receive the referral. Do not decline this – an orthopaedic surgeon will be able to examine the break with more specialised equipment and will be able to determine if you have damaged any ligaments or joints as well as the bones. In any case, we will get you in a cast in a few minutes, and then you can be on your way. We will give you your paperwork of all we did here, with contact information should your practitioner wish to contact us for any explanations. Do you have any questions for me?”

Kurt exhales and replies, “No thank you. I appreciate your help.”

He nods curtly and begins imputing information into the computer to the side. As the doctor taps away, Sebastian rasps out weakly, his face slack with guilt, “I can’t believe I broke your hand.”

Kurt, who’s refused painkillers because _no_, just snorts and replies teasingly, barely a waver of pain in his voice, “I’m milking this for the rest of your life, pumpkin. Think of all the opportunities! You don’t want to go see _Wicked_? Too bad! Don’t want to go to Fashion Week? Sounds like a you problem!”

Sebastian’s lips curve up in a weak, reluctant smile while Theodore laughs in the corner, and Kurt grins in response.

In a way, Kurt can’t help but be thankful for the broken hand – he can’t imagine what would be going through Sebastian’s mind if he didn’t have Kurt’s injury to distract him. It sucks, but being consumed with guilt over breaking Kurt’s hand is better than losing himself in the shitstorm of what had happened today.

Kurt’s just ready to go home.

* * *

Sebastian’s asleep for the first time in days, headphones over his ears, when Theodore finally speaks.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his words nearly drowned out by the hum of the aeroplane’s engines.

Kurt looks up from his Kindle – he’s reading _Snow Crash_ by Neal Stephenson, which was recommended by Sebastian – and frowns. “For what?” he asks, not sure what this is about.

Theodore watches the ice cubes in his whisky absently and explains, “For being there for Sebastian when we couldn’t get through to him, for talking us out of having him testify on the stand, just...everything.”

“You made the decision to let him do a video testimony,” Kurt reminds him.

“Yes, but I didn’t think of the consequences. I was so blind with my past experiences in law, knowing that—that victims always hated testifying at first and then were happy they did in the future, but Sebastian wouldn’t...the defence focussed on Sebastian and Charlotte, more so than all of the others, and the questions they shot at Armelle would’ve been aimed at Sebastian if he had testified in person.” Theodore takes a deep breath, and admits in a wet, soft tone, “I don’t know if he would’ve been able to handle it. I really don’t know.”

Kurt stares at him, his heart in his throat, and even though he almost doesn’t want to ask, he hears himself whisper, “Will you tell me what happened?”

Theodore looks at him for a long, long time, searching for something in Kurt’s face or possibly even mustering up the courage to even speak, but eventually he says quietly, “First, you have to understand the defence lawyer’s position, and I do. In fact, if I had been the defence council, I would’ve done the same thing, as much as it pains me to admit that. But I do. You see, Sebastian comes with a certain...pedigree. He’s the heir to a real estate empire on his mother’s side, and then he’s associated with an oil monopoly from my side, though he’ll never inherit. And that’s not even bringing in the fact that I’m an American politician. In any case, Sebastian, and Charlotte too, go hand-in-hand with a media circus, and it was smart on the defence’s side to try and discredit the massive public opinion that goes with that. It was the only way to throw out the three biggest names in the prosecution, because it would mean the possibility of parole, or hell, even a smaller sentence entirely. It’s unfortunate, but child molestation and rape doesn’t carry a long sentence in most countries, though it’s a longer sentence than his other charges. So you have to understand that if they discredited the individuals that came with the media, it would not only make public opinion sway, but it would also erase the manslaughter charge for Charlotte _and_ sway the jury to believe that perhaps it wasn’t as...”

Kurt feels sick as he finishes, “Horrible as it sounds?”

Theodore sighs, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Exactly. All it takes is one sliver of doubt in the jury, and suddenly a life sentence becomes twenty-five, and then he’d be out in ten or fifteen on good behaviour. Mind, he would still be a sex offender, but it’s the European Union, so he’d be able to move out of the country as soon as he was let go, and Juppé has money. If I was him, I’d move out of the EU for some anti-Western country and start the whole cycle again.”

Theodore rubs his hands down his face, and then turns to Kurt, his eyes filled with something so painful that it almost hurts to look at him. “The last thing you need to know before I explain what happened in there is that none of us blame you.” Kurt’s eyes widen, but Theodore shakes his head and holds up a hand to stop Kurt from speaking. “Just...look, we don’t blame you, and God knows that Sebastian wouldn’t have been able to handle being on the stand, being asked those atrocious questions, but in the end, Sebastian giving his testimony to a camera was the worst decision that we could’ve made.

“They played his testimony at the very beginning of the day, and right before the weekend, so the jury would have plenty of time to build up doubt. We had, of course, received the synopsis of what to expect from Sebastian’s testimony from the prosecution, and while we know that Sebastian left _a lot_ out of his testimony – there were just too many holes, which the defence used to their advantage – we still didn’t have time to really prepare for the questioning. They showed his testimony, and since Sebastian wasn’t there to answer the questions himself, it fell upon Armelle and I to answer them, and we didn’t have all the answers. Or, let’s be honest here, even a majority of the answers. We went into that questioning session completely and totally blind, and that was the best situation the defence could’ve hoped for.”

Kurt covers his mouth with his unbroken hand, horrified, because he hadn’t expected that. The idea that his actions could’ve directly contributed to Nicolas Juppé getting less time in prison is the most nauseating thing he could even imagine. Theodore confirms softly, “They showed his testimony, the first time we had to hear what happened to our son, and they immediately brought Armelle to the stand without even giving her a moment to breathe, without giving her a moment to process the new information to fill holes in her own memories. They knew that she would be easier to fluster, to break, because I do things like this for a living and would know how to answer more coherently, but Armelle did not, and it was absolutely _brutal_.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and Kurt almost wants to cry. He pushes it back though; they’re on a plane in first class, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to their quiet conversation. Then Theodore glances at Sebastian as if to check if he’s really asleep, and then sighs deeply again and says, “The longest Juppé stayed with a family was two years, except with Armelle.” Kurt’s jaw drops behind his hand, because that is literally _six years less_ than the eight years he had been in Sebastian’s life, but Theodore just smiles tightly and continues, “I know. The defence’s position was that he began dating Armelle, admittedly for the reasons he was accused of, but that Charlotte...that Charlotte fell in love with him.” Kurt opens his mouth to exclaim angrily that that is _wrong_, but Theodore says, “There was no way for Armelle to refute it without leaving doubt. Charlotte’s gone, and Sebastian didn’t mention anything in his testimony to indicate that the defence wasn’t right. Because of that, they could make the argument that...that he didn’t threaten to kill her mother or brother if she told, that it was consensual between them.”

Theodore’s hands clench against his whisky glass and then he croaks, “And they made the same argument with Sebastian. They made the argument that Sebastian, a _homosexual_, had manipulated Juppé into staying longer, had loved every moment of it because he was queer, and _that_ was the reason that Juppé stayed for so long, because it was consensual too.” Kurt lets out a weak groan, his heart shattering, and Theodore rasps out, “Not once in his testimony did Sebastian indicate that he had said no, Kurt, and he said multiple times in his testimony that he thought Juppé loved him. Not once did Sebastian say that Juppé threatened to kill his family, like he did with all his other victims, like he probably did with Charlotte. The defence jumped on that so fast, and they _had_ to. It was only logical for them to take that angle in order to discredit rape. Sure, Sebastian and Charlotte were still children, but how can a jury justify forcible rape when they were both allegedly asking for it? It seeds _doubt_, and that was what they needed to sell.”

Theodore clenches his jaw and brushes a hand through his thick, short blond hair. He says, “Juppé stayed with them longer than the others. Sebastian was already a teenager by the time he left, much older than all of the other victims, so it gave a hint of potential truth. As for Charlotte, the defence alluded that Charlotte...killed herself because she was devastated that Juppé, whom she loved, was gone, and even hinted that it was possible that she also wanted to make Sebastian hurt, like it was petty revenge, not something that Juppé caused. Obviously that last bit is utter _bullshit_—” Kurt lets out a reluctant, wet, miserable laugh behind his hands, because he’s never heard Theodore speak like that before and also because it _is_ bullshit. “—but they never outright said that it was the reason behind it. Just enough to seed doubt, if only to weasel out of a manslaughter charge on top of everything else, because _that_ was the only charge separating life in prison from twenty-five years.

“And then at the end of the day, they put Juppé on the stand. Most of the questioning was about Sebastian and Charlotte, but some about Armelle and even me. He probably lied on the stand, or maybe his mind is so twisted that he believed it, but he said that he and Sebastian loved each other, and none of us could refute it without Sebastian being there to defend himself. Then he said Charlotte had tried to send Sebastian to live with me, and he _wasn’t wrong_, Kurt; even Armelle had to admit under oath that Charlotte had tried to talk her into letting at least Sebastian go to Ohio to live with me, which alluded to the possibility that she wanted Sebastian out of the way because she could see that Juppé was growing interested in Sebastian, and she wanted Juppé all to herself. And there’s no denying that Juppé was the one that suggested Charlotte be sent to boarding school, and how she had become violent at the news – Armelle had to admit to that on the stand too. God, Kurt, it was the most ruthless and cruel questioning I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and about my _children_—”

He breaks off, his blue eyes bloodshot and wet, and finally finishes, “All-in-all, clearly it didn’t work, or maybe it was Sebastian’s reaction right before the deliberation that really hammered home that Sebastian’s terrified of Juppé and Juppé had done nothing but wax poetic lies. He still got life, without possibility of parole, and good _fucking_ riddance. Every single charge the prosecution slapped him with stuck, and I thank God for that.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he simply reaches across the aisle and places his left hand, bulky cast and all, on Theodore’s forearm, trying to give him some sort of comfort.

Neither one of them says another word until they’ve landed at JFK.


	4. Part Three: A Perfect Ten

Part Three  
_A Perfect Ten_

–

“Everyone heals in their own time and in their own way. The path isn't always a straight line, and you don't need to go it alone.”  
Zeke Thomas

Kurt takes a deep breath and then slides open the door of the loft.

Despite his friends and makeshift family wanting to meet him at JFK, he had declined, telling them that he was going to accompany Sebastian and Theodore to their hotel. Sebastian’s apartment in Manhattan won’t be open until the first of September, though Sebastian won’t be able to move in until the third due to various companies furnishing and decorating the flat anyway, so they’re staying in a hotel until then. He had accompanied them there and then ended up staying for dinner (which Sebastian picked at but didn’t eat), despite knowing that his roommates were waiting for him to arrive.

He’s happy to be home, yes, but he also doesn’t want to be here, at the loft. He’s going to return to Sebastian’s hotel after he changes clothes (he’s on his last outfit, and then they’re going to spend one last night there together before they both have to be in classes that next morning. He doesn’t want to leave Sebastian alone when his father is gone, and he has already been urged by Theodore to check up on him as much as possible.

Not that _that_ matters. Kurt’s practically going to be moving in, at least until Sebastian’s somewhat stable in his classes and has regained some of his strength. Kurt’s terrified that he’s going to end up continuing his food restrictions like he did at dinner, and that’s not even factoring in the fact that Sebastian’s guiltily hovering about Kurt’s hand.

And a little voice in his head wants to make sure that Sebastian doesn’t go out and get high. After the past twenty-four hours, Kurt recognises the glazed longing in Sebastian’s eyes – the need to just fade away and forget for a moment – and he’s been seeing it ever since the French doctor had declared that Kurt’s hand was genuinely broken.

Well, he’s been seeing it before they even went to France, to be perfectly honest, but now it’s completely taken over Sebastian’s brain. It scares Kurt, and it won’t do for Sebastian to start his uni experience stoned. He’s not going to be able to pass his classes, let alone get a fucking _medical degree_, if he’s back on drugs.

He walks in to a welcoming committee. Rachel, Elliott, Dani, Sam, and surprisingly Blaine are all standing in the sitting room, and they all sing “Welcome home!” in perfect pitch as they throw up balloons and confetti.

He smiles weakly at them, wishing that he could muster up an appropriate response, but he is so exhausted and emotionally drained that he can’t. And he doesn’t even have to after a moment because Rachel gasps and exclaims, “Oh my God, Kurt! What happened to your _arm_?”

Kurt blinks, opens his mouth a few times for words that don’t come, and then he suddenly can’t take it anymore. He simply cracks, letting go of every emotion that he’s been bottling up for two weeks.

The cries of alarm are inconsequential, the force of his weeping drowning out everything else. It’s physically _painful_, and he feels like he can’t breathe past the mucus and the tears and the full-body convulsions. He falls to his knees and curls into a ball, sobbing and sobbing and _sobbing_, and fuck he had wanted to break down in the privacy of his own bedroom, not where every one of his friends and family can see him fall apart, but he can’t help it. That _thing_ that’s been invading his very atoms is finally free, agonising and harsh and violent, and there’s no stopping it now as it bursts out of him like a dam breaking.

When he finally comes to, still suffocating on his own snot and tears and his body burning with heat, he can feel everyone around him. He can hear Rachel’s soft humming of a song he can’t name, and he can see that his head is laying on Blaine’s yellow trousers as Blaine runs his fingers through Kurt’s sweaty, lank hair. It grounds Kurt, and despite his pounding headache and the sporadic sobs that rip from his throat, he does feel better now that that heavy mass of repressed emotion has been loosened with the fit.

Kurt takes in a deep, clogged breath and whispers against the damp fabric of Blaine’s trouser leg, “I’m sorry. I needed to get that off my chest, but I was hoping to do it in private.”

“No better place than surrounded by the people that love you,” Elliott says genuinely, and Kurt doesn’t feel quite as embarrassed now. He hasn’t been friends with Elliott and Dani long, but he’s relieved that his breakdown didn’t make them uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” he manages, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Was it...” Rachel trails off, her eyes filled with worry.

Kurt answers her uncompleted sentence as he carelessly wipes his face with a sleeve: “It was bad,” he admits tiredly, now rubbing his hands down his wet face as his entire body shakes uncontrollably. Rachel, Blaine, and Sam all run their fingers or palms along various parts of Kurt’s body, silently giving him comfort that _is_ actually comforting, as Kurt continues, “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life.”

“He didn’t get acquitted, did he?” Blaine breathes, sounding horrified.

Kurt can’t help but bark out a harsh laugh. “No,” he says. “He got life with no chance of parole, thank _God_. It was everything other than his sentence that was hard.” He doesn’t want to go into it here, doesn’t want to go into the private, deep details that they don’t need to hear from anyone other than Sebastian (and isn’t that a laughable idea), but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Quietly, he explains, “Look, Sebastian had a pretty severe panic attack while he was holding my hand during the sentencing and broke my hand. It wasn’t his fault, and he’s already feeling guilty on top of everything else, so I’d appreciate it if you could not bring it up around him if you see him, and definitely don’t draw attention to it, okay?”

“_Jesus_,” murmurs Sam.

Kurt laughs again, another rough sound. “I know. I’m still kind of surprised – he’s skin and bones, so I don’t know how he had the strength to do it in the first place.” No one says anything, clearly still shocked, and then Kurt sighs and says, “I know that I just got back and you probably want to have dinner and go to Callbacks or something, but I’m just here to pack more clothes so I can head back. I’m going to be staying with Sebastian for a while.”

“But you just got here!” Rachel exclaims, clearly wounded. “We haven’t seen you in weeks and you’re moving _in_ with him?”

Kurt rubs his face again, takes a deep breath, and then finally admits with a quiet finality, “Rachel, Sebastian is six-foot-one and one hundred and five pounds; he’ll literally _die_ if he’s left to his own devices.” The silence following that statement is heavy and sick, and Kurt continues in a whisper, “If Sebastian is hospitalised, which is looking really likely right now, he’ll lose his slot to Columbia and will have to reapply once he’s healthier, and there’s no guarantee that he’d get accepted a second time. Theodore, his dad, would have to quit his job to take more leave, which Sebastian is adamantly against, and Armelle, his mum, is applying for a tourist visa which’ll give her ninety days in country, but that takes a few weeks to get finalised. So I’m going to stay with him until Armelle gets out here at least but maybe for longer if I’m needed, and besides, I’m probably the only person who’s going to have any luck getting him to eat other than licenced professionals in a treatment facility. God knows his parents have been useless so far, and I’m not above tying him to a goddamn chair and physically shovelling it down his throat.”

Kurt lets out a single shaky exhale, and finishes in a tone thick with tears, “Maybe it’s not my responsibility, but I want to do this. I _need_ to do this. I’d do it for any of you if you were in the same boat, and if this is what it takes for Sebastian to get healthy enough to accomplish his dreams, then I’ll do it happily. I don’t need your support or acceptance, but _fuck_, I’d love to have it.”

Suddenly he’s surrounded by everyone, all of them squeezing him in the middle of a comforting group hug, and the murmurs of acceptance and support are like a soothing balm on his frayed nerves.

He loves these people, and he wouldn’t give them up for the world.

* * *

Surprisingly, Sebastian doesn’t fight him as hard as Kurt would’ve expected.

He eats like a bird, but he’s _eating_, and he’s not even exercising profusely like the internet says recovering anorexics try to do. In the way that physically fit people under long illness do, he gains weight remarkably fast, even if it’s not a _lot_ of an increase; however, it’s enough for Kurt to call Armelle and tell her that she’s not needed after all.

That’s mostly for Sebastian’s peace of mind though. General ground rules, supported by a licenced nutritionist that Theodore had hired, had already been established before Theodore had even left New York: Sebastian had to gain at least two pounds a week, talk to a psychologist four times a week for an hour in office or over Skype, have drug tests once a week, and keep at least a 3.7 grade point average in order to keep himself out of a treatment facility (and, by extension, to keep himself in Columbia with his adult independence). However, on that first night in Sebastian’s new flat – furnished and decorated in a tasteful, yet bland manner, so Sebastian will have room to customise it to his liking over the next few years – Kurt and Sebastian had come up with a few additional ground rules of their own: Kurt would keep Sebastian’s admittedly overbearing family, particularly his mother, away (which Kurt agreed readily to), help Sebastian with his basic courses (mostly history and English, since they are Kurt’s best subjects and Sebastian won’t really need them in medical school) until he was healthy enough to do everything on his own, and overlook missed meals or fudge reports on the occasional missed weight goal (which was a bit harder to agree to, but as long as it doesn’t become a habit, Kurt figures that Sebastian can have a bit of leeway with the crushingly strict rules if only to not get admitted to hospital).

The only thing that Kurt had said after their long discussion was over was ‘_Don’t make me regret this Sebastian Smythe_.’

As of yet, Sebastian hasn’t.

Over the last few weeks, Sebastian’s only missed one week for his weight and only by a pound, so according to the scale in the master bath, he’s one hundred and eighteen pounds. It’s still alarming – he’s the same weight as _Rachel_, who’s five-three and thin herself, and literally _fifty pounds_ lighter than Kurt – but it’s a start, and Kurt’ll take the victories as they come.

They’ve been isolated in the flat since moving in except for classes and Kurt’s two doctor’s appointments for his broken hand. The groceries are ordered online and delivered, a cleaning service comes in once a week to do a deep clean and replenish any needed supplies, and Sebastian does his therapy through Skype mostly and then once in the flat itself (so Dr Matthews can get a urine sample). In a weird way, Kurt doesn’t really mind; he’s in a performing arts university, so he doesn’t have the standard classes that Sebastian has for basic courses, and he sees his friends at school and the NYADA coffee shop where they all relax during free periods. Sebastian doesn’t have any friends in the city yet other than Kurt (and the New Directions alumni somewhat), so Sebastian’s not really missing much per se; he is simply trying to keep up with the demanding load of work at Columbia while simultaneously feeling weak and lethargic.

Mercifully, Sebastian’s sex drive is non-existent at the moment. Kurt hasn’t a clue how he’ll deal with that once Sebastian does get the itch – it’s difficult enough getting him energised enough to complete his homework and choke down his meals, and adding a sexually frustrated teenager with the means to sneak out for sex (and possibly drugs) on a whim...well, it’s going to be difficult, Kurt knows that much.

Kurt just hopes that when that time comes, Sebastian will be physically and mentally strong enough to make good choices.

* * *

Time goes on, as it always does.

Sebastian has setbacks, some worse than others, and they have a _lot_ of explosive fights over big things and small things, but by the time Sebastian’s first term is over and Christmas is upon them, he’s still in school and at a healthy BMI (though only barely, and he still eats like a bird). Kurt goes with him to a few bars when he’s healthy enough to pick up blokes, both to subtly supervise Sebastian’s activities (Sebastian allows this with surprisingly minimal grumbling) and because it’s fun. Eventually, he abandons the former once he’s assured that Sebastian’s not looking to get high and goes just for the fun of it, eventually picking up a man of his own one night (that turns into a two-month-long relationship, which ends amiably).

Blaine and Kurt pick up their friendship at first, and aside from one hook-up, they don’t restart their relationship. Eventually Blaine starts dating a boy from NYADA named Simon, and Blaine gets distant, due to Blaine focussing all of his attention on his new paramour – and because Simon is jealous of Blaine hanging around with an ex-boyfriend (which Kurt thinks is out of line, but it’s not his place to get involved).

Besides, Kurt’s distracted by his own dating escapades, which, as Sebastian had predicted, are rather numerous now that he’s giving out some sort of subliminal green light or something. He doesn’t go long without a boyfriend, and while the longest relationship he manages is six months with Jason Newberry, it’s still an absolute trip that he, Kurt ‘Gay-Face’ Hummel, is desirable enough to have boys clamouring for his attention. After so long being the odd boy out in Lima, it’s extremely validating, not to mention that he’s enjoying figuring himself out as well.

He discovers things about himself that he never would’ve guessed – he prefers getting coffee beans rather than flowers as a gift (‘_Obviously_,’ says Sebastian as he dabs concealer on a hickey he has on his neck absently, ‘_because you’re a romantic and flowers are a bad omen to a short, disappointing relationship, whereas coffee is your drug of choice and keeps you from being less of a bitch_’), he’s a natural top (‘_Obviously_,’ says Sebastian as he throws balls of pita at Kurt’s head at their favourite Mediterranean eatery, ‘_because you’re too much of a raging control freak, and from what I can tell from our conversations, none of your idiot boyfriends could find your prostate if they had a map and x-ray vision so you’re naturally going to be biased_’), and that he’s a bit more superficial than he’s comfortable with when it comes to picking potential boyfriends (‘_Obviously_,’ says Sebastian with an eyeroll while he types an essay on his laptop, ‘_because you’re hot and funny as fuck, so you deserve to date guys who are in your range...if you go any lower than an eight, we’re going to have _words_, buttercup_’).

Rachel and Jesse St James start hanging out, to pretty much everyone’s horror, but it’s actually Sebastian who gives Kurt the third-degree, saying, ‘_Look, I get it, he did shitty things to Rachel back in high school, but the past is in the past, and if the past denotes our futures, then why in the fuck are you friends with me?_’ Kurt mellows out after that and starts defending Jesse too, which leads to everyone else trying to give him a chance, and eventually everyone gets used to that on-again relationship. It seems like Jesse’s grown up a lot, though he’s certainly still a drama queen, and since he makes Rachel happy, Kurt is more than happy to let it go.

Santana and Brittany come back from their honeymoon and stay at the loft for a few months until Brittany snags a job as a dancer in an off-Broadway production. Between Santana’s job at the diner, and eventually doing some more commercial and extra work, and Brittany’s steady income on her show, they end up getting a pretty decent place that they share with another lesbian couple, though still in Bushwick.

Kurt’s things migrate to Sebastian’s slowly but surely, until one day, Rachel comes over with a few boxes and garment bags and sits Kurt down in Sebastian’s sitting room. She explains that the only things left of Kurt’s in the loft are his bed and dresser, plus some cutlery if he wants it, and isn’t it time to just get with the programme and move in with Sebastian permanently? She explains that Elliott is willing to take his bedroom, as he hasn’t been able to find a decent roommate and his lease is expiring, so the rent will be covered, and in the space of an afternoon, Kurt goes from persistent house guest to Sebastian’s official roommate.

It’s bizarre, and sudden, but in a way it’s just convenient (once they hammer out the financial details of course). Kurt’s comfortable in Sebastian’s _(their_) flat, and Sebastian’s already gotten used to sharing his space with Kurt as well. They come up with house rules this time – Sebastian keeps his randoms to his bedroom unless he gives Kurt advance warning, Kurt doesn’t hijack all the decorating, Kurt pays for utilities and amenities while Sebastian pays rent (since Kurt couldn’t even afford half the rent of such an upscale Manhattan flat), whoever cooks is exempt from cleaning up, and no parties in the flat – and it goes pretty smoothly overall. It’s practically in between Columbia and NYADA, so it’s an easier commute to Kurt’s classes, Kurt has a permanent out when drama inevitably starts in the Bushwick loft, Kurt has his own bedroom and bathroom, and Kurt’s happy and at ease around Sebastian.

The worst part about the arrangement is the fact that everyone, both of their families included, seem to think that they’re dating now that they’re living together, which is _not_ the case at all.

Though, if Kurt has to make a concentrated effort to not fall in love with his best friend, then it’s not like he tells anyone about it. There’s enough drama to go around as is, and he has to focus all his attention on finding a guy who can actually fulfil his need for a long-lasting, mutually engaging relationship. While Sebastian is literally perfect for Kurt, he’s still not the type of guy that does relationships (or bottoms), so Kurt has to find a guy that can deal with Kurt’s special brand of crazy, fits in with his friends, _and_ doesn’t mind Kurt’s intense and weirdly co-dependent relationship with Sebastian.

Unsurprisingly, it’s the last one that tends to spell the death of any and all relationships Kurt has, but it’s for the best. Kurt’ll pick Sebastian over any man in the world, even despite Kurt and Sebastian being strictly platonic, and he won’t be like Blaine: any potential life partner has to be comfortable with the fact that Kurt and Sebastian are a packaged deal, and if they can’t, then they obviously aren’t good enough for Kurt.

Sebastian just shakes his head with a genuinely apologetic, but ultimately pleased smile.

* * *

Kurt nudges his way into their flat on a summer Tuesday wearily, his suitcase heavy and cumbersome.

The open plan on the ground floor gives a perfect view of the sitting room, kitchen, half-bath, and dining room, and therefore Kurt’s greeted by the sight of Sebastian dishing out Italian food from their takeaway containers in just his skin. It’s testimony to how many times Kurt’s seen Sebastian naked over their two years of friendship by how Kurt fails to react at all, instead leaving his suitcase by the door and heading tiredly to the kitchen. “Please tell me there’s enough for me,” he says, standing behind Sebastian so he can peek over his shoulder at the offerings.

“Sure,” Sebastian says blandly, unconcerned with his nudity. He gets a third plate from the cupboard and scoops out the rest of a vegetarian dish – eggplant parmesan, Sebastian’s favourite from Margarite’s a few blocks down – from its container. The portion is much larger (and includes the ignored side of spaghetti and the two breadsticks that comes with the meal) than what Sebastian divvied out for himself, but Kurt’s grown used to Sebastian’s eating habits over the years. In any case, Sebastian’s back in good physical condition, all lean muscles and healthy skin, so Kurt doesn’t even spare a thought about the meagre portion Sebastian’s given himself. He’s still thin for his height, but he’s healthy, and that’s all anyone can ask for.

“How long has this one been over?” Kurt asks as he takes his plate to the bar that separates the kitchen from the sitting room. Once it’s placed in front of a stool, he meanders around to get a fork, knife, and a glass of wine, the latter because he knows it’ll help him get to sleep faster.

He’s been in Lima for a few weeks to visit family and friends, his junior year of uni over. It had been his first time back home since the one-week trip to kidnap Rachel from her self-imposed solitude, bringing her back to New York where she belonged. While it had been nice to see a lot of faces that he hasn’t seen in a year or two, and to see his dad and Carole, he’s quite happy to be home and away from the inane banality of high school drama.

Sebastian hums. “A few hours now. He’s quite good with his tongue and can actually come just by playing with his nipples. It’s _awesome_. We’re gonna go for round three after we’ve refuelled.”

Kurt sighs and pities both of their balls. “Just try to keep it down to a low shrieking. I’ve been awake for two days and I’d like to sleep for at least a month.”

“That bad?” Sebastian asks, grabbing his mobile to shoot off a quick text before he carries both his and his man-of-the-night’s plate to the bar.

As Sebastian pours two more glasses of white, Kurt answers in between bites of food, “Not really. I mean, it sucked because going home always sucks, but it was also really nice. The kids crushed Nationals apparently, so there was a lot of flailing, and it’s hilarious to see Mr Schue freaking out about McKinley becoming a performing arts school that _he’s_ going to be the principle for.” When Sebastian’s...well, fuck-buddy comes out in nothing but good looks and a smile (definitely Sebastian’s type), Kurt simply gives him an absent wave before continuing, “I hope he doesn’t completely mess it up, but it’s William Schuester, so he inevitably will.” He takes a swallow of wine and says, “Dad and Carole are looking into real estate upstate, so they can be closer to me and D.C., and Theodore’s hooking them up with an agent. He says hello, by the way, and wants me to remind you to call Nina about a table?”

“Oh yeah, I found something in a consignment shop that I think she’d like for the den,” Sebastian explains. He allows Mr No-Name to give him a thorough snog before they both sit down, tucking into their food. Kurt can’t help but notice that they’re both absolutely covered in scratches, love bites, and literally dried lube and come, and they’re both well on their way to full hardness, so it’s clear that they’re going to be busy for a while. Kurt clenches his jaw, not out of horror or annoyance but because he _really_ needs to get laid. He hasn’t had a boyfriend in about two months, and he misses sex so much. He’s still totally against one-night stands as a personal thing, but he can’t help but wonder if just once, maybe...

He opens his mouth to respond, but Mr No-Name swallows his bite of lasagne and greets enthusiastically, “Hi! My name is Michael, and you must be the infamous roommate.”

Kurt stares at Mr Hi-My-Name-Is-Michael, whose name he’s probably going to forget within the hour because Sebastian will kick him out once the sun comes up, and then deadpans, “Yeah, that’s me, the infamous roommate. Most people just call me Kurt though.”

Sebastian snorts into his meal but Michael either doesn’t understand sass or just shrugs it off, instead asking with genuine interest, “So, are you two dating or something?”

Kurt and Sebastian both roll their eyes, the motion perfectly synchronised after two years of hearing the same question over and over again. “No,” Sebastian drawls, giving Michael an exasperated glance before shooting a grin Kurt’s way. “Though if I had a tenner for every time someone’s asked me that, I’d be a millionaire.”

Kurt bites back the instinctive quip that Sebastian’s already a millionaire. That’s Rule Number One when it comes to Sebastian’s hook-ups: _don’t tell them how much money I have_. Even serial bed-hoppers will get suspiciously clingy and romantic if they ‘smell a sugar daddy’, as Sebastian likes to say, and Kurt can’t help but see the truth in the statement. It’s why Sebastian tends to tell hook-ups that Kurt’s the one that’s loaded, so he doesn’t have to deal with the potential ramifications. Kurt plays along, because it’s fun to threaten to ‘_kick you out of my flat if you don’t stop leaving used condoms in the communal bathroom Sebastian!_’, and besides, Sebastian thinks Kurt’s jibes are utterly hilarious.

Usually.

Kurt can get vicious when he’s actually angry.

Instead, Kurt smiles sweetly and says, “Yeah, no. He totally thinks I’m hot but he’s not my type.”

“Bullshit,” Sebastian chimes in. “I’m everyone’s type. The real reason he won’t sleep with me is because he couldn’t handle it. His virginal lady parts would explode with the force of my sheer sex appeal, and not in a fun way.”

“Those aren’t lady parts, Bas,” says Michael with a leer, eyeing Kurt’s trouser-covered prick without shame (yep, _definitely_ Sebastian’s type).

“My eyes are up here, sweetie,” Kurt sighs, brandishing his fork tiredly but not bothering to cross his legs. After two years of Sebastian and his constant parade of attractive men, most of whom hit on Kurt even before Sebastian takes them home (or to the stranger’s home, or a loo, or a back alley, or wherever really), he’s gotten rather used to being checked out. Three years ago, he would’ve been horrified and snarled like a savage over being objectified, but now he’s just flattered. As long as they don’t touch him or talk to him like he’s an object, they can gawk as much as they like.

The first few times it had happened, back when being stared at had still reminded him of bullies targeting him, Sebastian had shot that shit down like the hand of God, but now Sebastian just encourages it. He’s fully aware that Kurt considers it an espresso shot to the ego, and besides, Sebastian’s allegedly had to put a lot of effort into cultivating Kurt’s self-esteem (though Kurt still has low moments, usually after a breakup). Sebastian regularly points Kurt out to hot guys, because he says that ‘_constant reinforcement of my irrefutable opinion about your attractiveness is only going to do you good, buttercup_.’ He’s also unapologetic about trying to set Kurt up with the ‘_hopeless, annoying romantics of our community_’ because apparently Kurt is a mountain troll when he’s been single (and abstinent) for too long.

Kurt can see the truth in that statement too. Unfortunately.

“Too bad,” Michael says with a wink. “I was enjoying the view. Say, if you _want_, we coul—”

“No,” Kurt and Sebastian drone in unison.

It’s not like Kurt _hasn’t_ thought about a threesome with Sebastian and his man-of-the-night before, especially when it’s offered so freely by Sebastian’s man-of-the-night (and that actually happens quite a lot). He’s only human after all. But they have a lorry full of reasons why they have never done so, most communicated and some not.

On Kurt’s end, he’s still a relationship-oriented guy and he doesn’t do one-offs, which Sebastian understands without even asking. Privately though (the only secret he has that Sebastian doesn’t know), he refuses to sleep with Sebastian because of a more prevalent reason: he’s already toeing the precarious line between _Best-Friend_ Sebastian and _Man-I-Could-Spend-The-Rest-Of-My-Life-With_ Sebastian, and he doesn’t want to dive past the line by sleeping with him. If Kurt falls into bed with him, he’s afraid that he’ll be done for, and neither one of them can deal with that.

On Sebastian’s end, he hates threesomes. Surprisingly. Apparently it’s distracting and confusing, and the few times he’s done it, participants tend to get...carried away. Sebastian still doesn’t let people top him when he does consent to anal, so when multiple guys want to have penetrative sex, Sebastian ends up having to push people off.

There are probably other reasons for it, but he’s never enlightened Kurt on what those reasons may be. Kurt’s never pushed it, because he’s wary of what said reasons would be, and because Sebastian’s entitled to secrets of his own.

“Fine,” Michael sing-songs with a pout, looking rather disappointed.

* * *

Almost three years after the trial, Sebastian slips.

It’s a day like any other. Kurt wakes up to his obnoxious alarm with a groan (and hits the snooze five times for a few more minutes of shut-eye), brews coffee as Sebastian runs around getting ready for classes, eats a light breakfast in his pyjamas while Sebastian tiredly inhales cup after cup of coffee, showers and dolls himself up, and then calls out a chipper ‘_See you after classes, pumpkin!_’ as he heads out the door. He attends his usual Tuesday classes – Acting IV, Applied Music V, and Production Costume – with the occasional break at NYADA’s coffee shop with his friends, and because it’s a non-dancing day, attends the usual after-school elective of Stage Fighting that the school offers. It’s his last year at NYADA, and he’s determined to take every class he can before he starts auditioning for theatre roles, but this one has been his favourite for years. Because Stage Fighting runs until half-six, he doesn’t get back to the flat until after seven, armed with the usual Indian takeout that he always picks up on Tuesdays for dinner.

It’s when he walks into their flat that everything falls apart.

It’s not unusual for Sebastian to be in his room studying, or to drag his feet at the prospect of eating when he’s having a stressful day, so Kurt doesn’t really think much of it when Sebastian’s not waiting in the common areas when Kurt gets home. He divvies out the food, gets them both a bottle of water and a glass of milk, and then heads to Sebastian’s room to snag him for dinner. Sebastian’s been neck-deep in exam prep, and not for the first time, Kurt’s deeply relieved that he’s in a technical school rather than a full-course university, because seeing the strain Sebastian’s under is bad enough without having to actively live through it himself.

Kurt knocks, and when he doesn’t receive an answer, he opens the door to peek in. The room is pristine as usual, Sebastian’s OCD not allowing anything else, but what surprises Kurt is that it’s empty, and a quick look in Sebastian’s closet and bathroom also indicates that Sebastian’s not here.

Considering the stress Sebastian’s under for his final exams, and for a pre-med Columbia degree to boot, Sebastian’s entire world has revolved around revision and studying. For weeks, Sebastian’s been isolating himself, cramming like a man in a panic, and therefore a curl of unease twists in Kurt’s gut because he suddenly has a really bad feeling. It’s probably illogical, but he can’t help it; Sebastian hasn’t left the flat, except for classes, in over a month due to the looming exams, and it’s strange that’s he’s not here. Sebastian studies better on his own, so Kurt can’t imagine him at a study group, and he would’ve texted Kurt if he had stayed late in the library. He hasn’t gone out to hook-up in weeks, and even if Sebastian had wanted to tonight, it’s too early for the usual haunts.

Kurt pulls out his mobile and calls Sebastian. The unease expands to distress when it goes to voicemail, but he refuses to panic. For all Kurt knows, Sebastian’s distracted or can’t hear his mobile, so it’s prudent to wait another thirty minutes and try again. Instead of calling the cavalry, which is quite tempting to be honest, he puts both of their plates into the cooker to stay warm and then pulls out his laptop from his messenger bag so he can fiddle with his final essay on stage design financing.

Right as he’s sitting down, he sees an open letter on the coffee table in the sitting room, next to Sebastian’s messenger bag and a bottle of water that’s been knocked over, its contents still dripping onto the hardwood floor underneath.

Sebastian’s a tyrant in regards to cleanliness and order, so it’s a glaring red flag. His heart in his throat, he abandons his laptop and walks into the sitting room quickly after snagging a flannel from a drawer. He absently wipes up the water from the table and floor even as his eyes glance at the letter, the words in French on thick, expensive-looking paper. He can’t read the tiny letters from where he’s at, but he has a cold feeling in his chest in regards to who it’s from, and despite the fact that he knows it’s an invasion of privacy, he can’t help but reach out a shaky hand and pull it towards him.

And _fuck_.

> _Mon petite chérie,_
> 
> _It has taken me all this time to acquire your contact information, and I apologise for the delay in correspondence. I had wanted to write you immediately after I last saw your face, but you are a hard boy to find. Luckily, my request for your contact information was granted by my investigators, so the wait is over._
> 
> _I have spent many years composing this letter in my head, almost as soon as I had left you in Paris, and it is hard to believe that it’s been seven years now. Forgive me if my thoughts are not penned down in the most eloquent way, because there is a lot that I need to say and not enough paper in the world to convey it with the justice it deserves._
> 
> _First, you now understand what kind of man I am, what I did to those mothers and their children, and it was all about power, about lust, and I grew bored with each family quite easily once the thrill disappeared. It was the same pattern, of threats and force and manipulation, and I cared very little about the after-effects of these actions. They were means to an end._
> 
> _It was the same for your mother and sister, and was supposed to be the same for you, but you, mon petite chérie, were different. Despite my actions and lies and perversities with other families, I honestly fell in love you. I never expected to, nor was I looking for it, but I did, and most ardently so. I did everything to you and you accepted it, wanted it, loved it, and how can a man – even a heterosexual man such as myself – resist such complete devotion? You were my perfect boy, my perfect love, and to this day, I am in awe of what we had together. It is why I stayed with you so much longer than all the others before and after you._
> 
> _I left you because I was terrified, not because you were too old or because I was tired of you. I was frightened by my devotion to you, and I cannot possibly express how sorry I am for the lie. I should never have left you and I regretted it the moment I slipped out of your arms the last time we made love. My pride and fear kept me from returning to you, and I will never be able to atone for that._
> 
> _Though I continued my patterns when I left you, all I could think of was the love in your eyes when your body opened around me, how you embraced the pain with equal devotion, how you wanted it so consumingly that it takes my breath away even now. Every woman and child that came after you paled in comparison, for you wanted it with your whole soul, and how can a man forget his destined soulmate?_
> 
> _Not a day goes by where I don’t imagine what our life should’ve been. I would have stayed in bed with you and loved you until you were of age, and then I would have left your mother. We would have married in a simple ceremony in southern France and continued to love each other with the utmost devotion. We would have adopted children, or better yet we would have found a surrogate for your children, with your green eyes and honey brown hair, and I would have loved them just as completely and perfectly as I love you. We would have grown old together, mon petite chérie, our children and grandchildren surrounding us with the same devotion that you’ve given me._
> 
> _I looked into your eyes in that courtroom and saw your continued commitment, and I know that we can continue where we left off. I may be in this prison now, and I will never leave it, but visits can be arranged, and with you in my life, with your love, we can both be whole again. Though I can never give you the life you deserve, surrounded by our beautiful children in a beautiful home in the countryside, I still love you and do not wish to be parted from you another moment. Please, my beautiful and adoring Sebastian, do not deny your inner desires and return to me. I know in your heart that it is what you want, what you need, and I cannot stomach the thought of denying you that. Come to me, and let us love each other as passionately as we once did._
> 
> _With all my love and hope,  
_ _Your Nicolas_

Kurt’s crying by the end of it, sick with rage and horror and fear. He can’t _imagine_ what Sebastian must have felt when he had read the words of a deranged, perverted monster – the confirmation of why Juppé had stayed with Armelle so long, the idea that Juppé has had Sebastian _investigated_ and _followed_, the declaration of a perverse love, the hint that Juppé has _fantasised_ about having Sebastian’s _children_ in his bed while Sebastian _consented_ to their molestation and rape while being raped himself.

Kurt pushes himself up and runs towards the nearest toilet, but only manages to make it to the kitchen sink before he’s vomiting, his breakfast and lunch forced out of him by the revulsion and terror he feels. His eyes stream with the force of it and only the weight of his chest on the edge keeps him upright, and he keeps heaving even when there’s nothing left in his body to expel.

He spits thickly, and then rushes towards his mobile, because _he needs to find Sebastian_.

He takes a photo of each page of the letter and sends the photos to Theodore – because there has to be something he can do on the legal side – before he’s calling Sebastian. It goes to voicemail once again, and he’s halfway through leaving a message before Theodore’s calling.

Kurt answers on the first ring. “He’s gone. I found the letter in the sitting room next to a bottle of water he knocked over and he’s not picking up his mobile. I can’t get a hold of him, Theodore, and I don’t know what to do.”

“_I’m contacting the police on my other mobile, Kurt_,” Theodore says, his voice tight with worry. “_Just keep trying and call me the second you hear anything, okay? Just keep trying and stay as calm as you can. As soon as we find him, I am going to crucify every single person even remotely connected to that piece of filth, especially whoever is following my son. The second I find out who it is, I am goi—call me back, I have the police on._”

Theodore hangs up and Kurt immediately redials Sebastian’s number, his stomach rolling and his breath coming out in short, choppy exhales. He feels dizzy and knows that he’s hyperventilating, but he doesn’t have the chance to make an effort to calm himself down, because he’s rushing for the sink again, dry heaving even as he listens to Sebastian’s jaunty voicemail message: ‘_Hey, it’s Sebastian. I’m not able to answer right now, in case that wasn’t completely obvious. In any case, if this isn’t Kurt, well...call Kurt. He’ll know where I am. If you don’t have his number, then there’s probably a good reason for that and you should stop calling me. And if this _is_ Kurt, then check your bed buttercup, because I’m probably in it. _Naked_. Toodles, losers!_’

Kurt hangs up, slides to the floor of the kitchen, and then calls again. He won’t waste time leaving a voicemail when he can just keep trying.

Seconds turn into minutes, which turn into hours. The sun disappears and is replaced by the artificial lights of the streetlamps; he doesn’t bother getting up from the hard tile of the kitchen to turn on a light, simply continuing his mechanical dial-hang-up-repeat. He dry heaves a few more times but nothing comes out, which is merciful considering he can’t move from his position on the floor to get to the sink or a bin. He can smell the sick scent of his vomit (which is still in the sink), the spicy hint of their curry (which is probably cold in the cooker), and the musky odour of his own sweat.

He’s just hung up again, his thumb already over the redial option, when he remembers that Sebastian has GPS on his mobile. If Sebastian’s mobile is ringing, then that means his battery isn’t dead and his mobile isn’t turned off if he recalls correctly. If that’s the case, then Kurt will be able to get real-time location data as to where he is, and that’s a thousand times better than sitting here, frozen in terror and utterly useless.

He stumbles when he gets to his feet, and he beelines to his laptop, going into Apple and entering in Sebastian’s information. As he pulls up the app to track Sebastian’s GPS, he calls Elliott, who has experience with these things. Elliott has the absolute worst coming out experience Kurt has ever heard before and has been through some horrible shit including his own past drug addiction, so even though Kurt doesn’t want this to get out (none of their friends know about Sebastian being an ex-addict, and Sebastian’s been adamant about keeping it that way), he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“_Hey, Kurt!_” Elliott says with laughter in his tone.

Kurt swallows past the lump of terror lodged in his throat and croaks, “Where are you?”

“_Shit, what’s wrong?_” Elliott asks instantly, the concern obvious in his tone.

Kurt lets out a wet, shaky breath, and replies, “No one else is to know, okay? Promise me that you won’t tell anyone else.”

“_I promise_,” Elliott assures him seriously, and Kurt can hear the truth in it.

“Sebastian got a letter from Juppé today, and he bolted. He’s...fuck, he had an addiction to heroin when he was a kid and I’m scared that he’s gone out to get high to escape. I’m pulling up his GPS information now, but I need someone to stay at the apartment just in case he comes home while I’m following the coordinates, because he might’ve left his mobile somewhere, but I can’t just sit here if I have an idea of where he is and I don’t want to call the police just in case because Columbia—”

“_Okay, stop_,” Elliott orders. “_I’m on my way. Rachel and I were about to head in to see a show so we’re already in Manhattan. Don’t leave the apartment until we get there. I won’t say anything to Rachel, but she can stay at your place just in case he comes back and we will go out _together _to search. Do _not_ fucking leave that apartment without me, you hear me?_”

Kurt chokes on a sob and rasps, “Okay. Okay. Please hurry, Elliott.”

“_We’ll be there in twenty minutes, just hang tight._” Elliott hangs up without waiting for a reply.

Kurt spends the next twenty-five minutes simultaneously panicking and preparing. In between freezing mid-step as his overactive imagination visualises worst-case scenarios and a panic attack that nearly knocks him unconscious, he cleans out his vomit from the sink, hides Juppé’s letter under his mattress, throws out the Indian food and glasses of milk, and periodically refreshes the GPS locator on his computer. The blue dot signalling Sebastian’s mobile hasn’t moved from a location close to the East River Park on the Lower East Side, which is only ten or fifteen minutes away by cab even with heavy traffic. Every cell in his body wants to just run out and find Sebastian, but Elliott had been insistent, and judging by the harsh seriousness in his tone, Kurt doesn’t want to disregard his words.

The knock on his door frightens Kurt into letting out a small cry, but he immediately runs for the door. Part of him hopes that it’s Sebastian, but he opens the door to Elliott and Rachel. Rachel instantly asks, “What’s going on? What’s happened to Sebastian?”

Elliott, on the other hand, beelines towards the bedrooms without a word and disappears into Sebastian’s. “Stay here, Rachel, _please_,” Kurt says, his fear and earlier panic attack and vomiting making his voice raspy and weak, and he pushes her gently towards the sitting room before following Elliott. When he catches up, he finds Elliott digging in Sebastian’s bathroom drawers, and he manages to ask, “What are you doing? We should be out there...he’s ten minutes away, Elliott, and we have to go.”

Elliott doesn’t look at Kurt, still going through Sebastian’s things without any regard to the disarray he leaves it in. Quietly, he says, “I’m looking for naloxone. Opioid addicts, especially rich ones like Sebastian, will have it on hand just in case, even if they’re clean.”

“What is it?” Kurt can’t help but ask, and he starts digging as well, though he hasn’t an idea what he’s looking for exactly.

“I don’t want to freak you out, but it’s an overdose treatment,” Elliott explains calmly, and Kurt shudders so violently that he knocks half the medicine cabinet’s contents into the sink. “Look, when addicts relapse, they tend to take pre-rehab doses because it’s what they remember, and because they’ve been clean for so long, the brain doesn’t have the same tolerance and so overdoses are common. I don’t think Sebastian would be that stupid, but it’s possible, and I don’t want to be unprepared. Bingo!”

Kurt jumps, but Elliott’s already standing up, two weird boxes with pictures on them in his hand. Elliott glances at them, murmurs “Good, they’re not expired” absently, and then he pulls Kurt out of the bathroom. Rachel’s hovering in the sitting room, and while Kurt retrieves the laptop from the bar, Elliott tells her in a no-nonsense tone, “If he comes back, call us. Otherwise, we’ll let you know if we find him. He’ll be okay, alright?”

Rachel nods, hugs Kurt quickly, and watches them leave.

They practically run out of the apartment building, flagging a taxi pretty quickly considering Kurt and Sebastian live in NoHo. Once they’re on the move, Elliott says quietly, “I know my way around New York’s drug scene, especially around here, so it’s good that you called. The area we’re going to has better options than some places in the city and Sebastian has money and general knowledge about the scene, so he’s not going to get screwed over and shoot up some toxic shit, but it’s still not the best place for a virgin like you to go alone. So yeah, _thank you_ for calling me – you prancing into a possible drug den alone would’ve been bad juju.”

Kurt shudders and Elliott just wraps an arm around Kurt in a comforting embrace. “Look, I don’t know how bad the letter was, but I don’t think he’s looking to kill himself. If..._when_ we find him and _if_ he’s shot up, you gotta just stay in control and let him off the hook for the time being; it’ll be a rough few days and weeks for him and he doesn’t need you or anyone else freaking out on him. Heroin is nasty shit, Kurt, and if he’s high on it, it might hook him all over again since he has a history, so we just gotta be supportive and help him through the withdrawal and the after-effects that follow. But with any luck, he’s just drunk off his ass and balls-deep in some shady motherfucker instead of high as a kite, so keep yourself optimistic.”

Kurt nods and concentrates on breathing until the taxi stops in front of a row of brownstones. They pay the driver and then hop out, advancing on the one labelled by the GPS. It’s not too dubious of a building, but Kurt can hear the thumping baseline and he hopes that Sebastian’s just at a house party, drunk like Elliott had said.

They climb the steps and knock, and it’s only a few seconds before the door opens, a redheaded man poking his head out of the crack. Kurt hears a hissed “Shit” from Elliott (which is terrifying, and it takes all of Kurt’s acting skills to remain physically impassive) before Elliott plasters on a smile. “Hey Nathan,” he says loudly over the music.

“Fuck! Hey Ells! C’mon in!” Nathan exclaims, and nudges the door open wider so Kurt and Elliott can slide in. The music is blaring, a heady thrum in Kurt’s bones, and it smells like booze and marijuana. In fact, the entire packed brownstone is cloudy with smoke, dancing bodies swirling through it like ghosts, and Kurt’s stomach drops into his toes, because considering Elliott’s reaction and the drug smoke in the air, the likelihood of Sebastian not partaking is incredibly low.

“Thought you went straight, dude,” Nathan says, pulling Elliott’s arm to lead him into the house, but Elliott stops him before they can be pushed further into the din.

“Nah, Nathan, I did. I’m just looking for someone. Dapper kid, tall, with a fuck-ton of cash. Probably came in here depressed as shit or mad as hell, looking for dope. Goes by Sebastian. You heard of him?”

“Maybe...I think there’s a guy with Meacham upstairs that kinda sounds like that. Dude was stone-cold though, so maybe not. Check it out, yeah? Dude I’m thinking of could be anyone.”

He hears Elliott thank Nathan like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel and sees him pass him a wad of cash (which is confusing), and then Nathan is leading them towards the back of the place and up the stairs, making them hover while he peeks into rooms. The things Kurt sees from over his shoulder is horrifyingly fascinating: people snorting lines from the stomachs of women or laughing around hookahs and bongs, a group of seven people in an orgy, uni-aged students drawing a naked woman who sits on a bed with a bottle of tequila, a bundle of people strumming guitars between writing lyrics and smoking cloves, rooms full of mattresses on the floor and people sleeping and heating spoons with lighters...it goes on and on. There’s a certain dreamlike tranquillity to all of it, like Kurt’s watching it all through a lens, until they get to another room with mattresses and Nathan points to a freckled woman with lime green dreadlocks dressed in a purple bikini top and cargo trousers.

And Kurt sees Sebastian, nestled between two stick-thin girls and an equally thin man.

Kurt’s heading toward him before his mind even registers that he’s moving, eyes taking in Sebastian’s form despite the dimness of the room. He’s done a lot of research on heroin use and addiction, reading everything available online, and everything about Sebastian’s body right now registers as familiar despite having never seen it in the flesh before. Sebastian doesn’t look hurt, only flushed and disoriented, but he’s half naked, his trousers, socks, and shoes who knows where. Kurt’s relieved that he still has his tight boxers on at least, and they look unsoiled so he’s fairly sure that Sebastian hasn’t been having sex while under the influence (thank God).

He reaches the mattress and allows Elliott to gently move one of the girls, which gives Kurt the room to sit on the edge and start looking Sebastian over. He doesn’t find any track marks on the insides of Sebastian’s elbows, but he does find three needle punctures behind his right knee. Just to be thorough, he checks the webbing between Sebastian’s fingers and toes, but nothing stands out. Elliott’s fingers press into Sebastian’s neck, checking his pulse, while the woman with dreadlocks (_Meacham?_) says in a thick Brooklyn accent, “He was careful when he came up, far as I could tell. Had me double-check his numbers twice, and even then, he almost didn’t take it. Slip, yeah?”

“Yeah, Meach,” Elliott says, just loud enough to be heard over the music downstairs. “Thanks for the second, babe.”

“No problem,” she says easily. Kurt wants to look at her, to say thank you as well even though he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be thanking her for, but he can’t look away from Sebastian, who’s not even cognisant enough to recognise Kurt in his field of view. “Got his shit over here; I’ll go snag it for you so you can pop him outta here. He got a shrink?”

Elliott doesn’t answer so Kurt manages a single nod, making a mental note to call Dr Matthews when Sebastian’s settled in bed. Sebastian only talks to her twice a month now, but Kurt knows that Sebastian gets on with her well, and hopefully he’ll consent to at least weekly sessions with her.

“Good,” Meacham says. “Book it as soon as you get home. Hydrate, no drugs, don’t jump his shit. He’s gonna feel crap enough as it is. I’ll be right back.”

Sebastian shifts, smacks his lips, and then his eyes somewhat focus as his cloudy gaze shifts from the ceiling to Kurt’s face. “Hey,” he greets, his voice sounding far away and thick, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

Kurt gives himself a moment to get his emotions locked down, and then replies gently, “Just here to get you home, pumpkin.”

A ghost of a smile curls Sebastian’s chapped lips before it disappears, as if it had taken all of his energy to do just that. He mumbles something, and Kurt lowers his ear to Sebastian’s mouth to hear better, saying, “Have to speak up, Sebastian; music’s loud.”

Sebastian hums, a low sound, and then repeats, “I did something stupid babe.”

Kurt clenches his jaw and eyes to hold back the sob that wants to escape, and then he replies with a waver in his tone, “It’s okay. No one’s mad or upset. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian whispers, either ignoring the question or too out of it to register Kurt’s words. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have...I...”

“It’s okay,” Kurt repeats. He succeeds in tearing his eyes away from Sebastian for a second, asking Elliott for help with his eyes, and thankfully Elliott reads it, giving him a quick smile before moving close again. Between the two of them, they get Sebastian upright, and Elliott holds him steady while Kurt accepts Sebastian’s things from Meacham. In movements that Kurt has plenty of practise in, he manoeuvres Sebastian’s limbs until he’s clothed once again. He accepts the wallet that she gives him as well and slips it into his back pocket, then kneels down on the mattress so he can comfortably wrap an arm around Sebastian’s waist.

“Thanks, Meach,” Elliott says again, and then hands her one of the two weird box things – the naloxone from Sebastian’s bathroom – as he says, “Just in case, yeah?”

“Cheers, Starbaby,” she answers, giving them a salute before starting to walk around the room once again.

It’s hard getting Sebastian down the stairs, Sebastian tall and uncooperative and completely stoned, but they manage. The blast of hot city air when they make it outside is a blessing after the smoky atmosphere of the brownstone, and Elliott leads them a few blocks down before he sits Sebastian down on the kerb. “Stay here with him, okay? I’m gonna jog up a bit and find a cab. I’d call whoever you need to call now, because he’ll probably start crashing soon, not to mention that it’s a good idea to have an active call going since you’ll be alone.”

Kurt doesn’t care who messes with him at the moment. If anyone so much as _looks_ in their direction, Kurt’s liable to commit murder – now that he has Sebastian safe in his arms, Kurt won’t allow _anyone_ to touch him, especially if it’s the creep that’s been following Sebastian for Juppé. The fear has been replaced with a bone-deep anger, and he will do anything to protect Sebastian while he’s physically and emotionally hurting.

He pulls out his mobile and sends two texts. The first is to Theodore, telling him that he’s found Sebastian and he’s fine. He doesn’t mention the drug use, only texting a lie about Sebastian being wasted; he doesn’t know if Theodore will pull Sebastian out of Columbia for rehab and doesn’t want to chance the possibility. The second is to Rachel, telling her that Sebastian’s okay and that she should head home. Then he digs out Sebastian’s wallet from his trousers and places it, and his own mobile, in Sebastian’s messenger bag, because he doesn’t want to sit on them.

Sebastian’s head is on Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt hears him slur again, “I’ve done something stupid.”

Kurt can’t lie to him, so he responds quietly, “Pretty stupid, yeah, but it’s okay. I’m not upset with you, just worried.”

“You...sound mad,” Sebastian mumbles.

“Not at you,” Kurt tells him honestly.

There’s a long beat of silence, and then Sebastian says, “I just needed to get the words out of my head.” Kurt swallows down another sob before Sebastian continues weakly, “I tried and they’re still there. They’re _still there_. They won’t _leave_.”

Kurt hopes that Sebastian won’t notice the tears that trail down his cheeks as he pulls Sebastian in close, wrapping his arms around his best friend and holding on tight. “I know,” Kurt breathes. “They’re in my head too, and I don’t know how to make them go away either.”

The silence after that is heavy and sickening.

Sebastian’s nodded off again by the time Elliott shows up in a taxi, and they both haul him into the backseat awkwardly. They’re quiet for a few minutes, and then Elliott whispers, “He’ll be okay. Meach seconded him, and she said that he almost didn’t even take it, so this isn’t a relapse. He might not even have much of a withdrawal, physically at least. Mentally, probably more so, but it’s something at least.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and then asks the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue since that woman had first spoke: “Who was she?”

Elliott smiles and explains with clear fondness, “Jessica Meacham. She’s a solid woman...known her for years. She’s a recovered addict, as much as any of us can be recovered anyway. She got a nursing degree when she got clean, and now she spends her days in dens, pushing for people to get help while helping them administer and being first aid if there’s an overdose. There are a lot of people like her, actually, listening to stories and helping where they can, and it saves a lot of lives while the rest of the world treats addicts like lepers and watch us die.”

“Wow,” Kurt says, awed. The amount of mental strength something like that would require frankly staggers Kurt.

“Yeah,” Elliott agrees quietly. “It was someone like her that got me into rehab, and I give them as much money as I can spare when I can. Meds like naloxone are cheap...well, Sebastian’s Evzio is pricy as _fuck_ because pharmaceutical companies are vampires, but generic injections and the nasal spray are like thirty bucks, give or take. One shot of that and it can buy a potential dope OD a few hours to get to hospital, which is amazing.”

“Jesus,” Kurt breathes, and then adds, “That’s why you gave one of those things to her then?”

“Pretty much,” Elliott says. “Hope he doesn’t mind. We have the one still just in case he does slip again and isn’t as careful next time, but he’s loaded, so he can get more pretty easily. I don’t even think you have to have a prescription, just the cash to buy it.”

“Good to know,” Kurt says, straightening himself up as they pull under the overhang of their building.

They pay the cabbie and head to the lift after Kurt inserts the key, riding it up to the twentieth floor. They trudge out into the corridor and make their way to their flat, opening it with minimal difficulty and heading inside. Mercifully, Rachel’s gone, though Kurt knows that she’ll be demanding answers sooner rather than later, so they head to Sebastian’s bedroom.

They sit him down on the edge and Kurt moves towards one of his cupboards, pulling out a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms. As he returns to Sebastian, who’s starting to shiver but looks a bit more alert, Elliott says, “I’m going to sleep in the spare room. I’ll call in tomorrow and stay, just to make sure everything’s alright, but I doubt that he’ll have any issues. Just let him sleep, and for God’s sake don’t let him go to school tomorrow, even if he’s up for it. Make him call someone to get the work he needs, but don’t let him leave. I’d personally recommend him skipping until Monday, and maybe calling someone to stay with him while you’re at NYA—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kurt interjects with finality. “I’ll go back to school when he does. I can afford to miss three days of classes with my attendance.”

Elliott studies him for a moment and then gives him a tired smile. “That doesn’t surprise me, and I’m sure he’ll be grateful for it. Anywho, I’m off to bed. G’night, Kurt.”

Kurt returns the statement, even though sleep is the last thing on his mind, and then once Elliott’s gone, he starts removing all of Sebastian’s clothes. It’s as familiar process as dressing him is – between that first life-changing meeting at a Columbus A&E to nights where Sebastian collapses onto his schoolbooks from studying himself to exhaustion or is totally shitfaced, Kurt’s had a lot of practise – and despite his uncooperative limbs, Kurt manages to slip on Sebastian’s pyjamas and tuck him into bed.

Just as Kurt’s turning away to detour to the kitchen for some water bottles, he feels a shaking hand grasp his wrist. Kurt stops and turns back to Sebastian, who’s blinking at him despite his heavy eyelids and foggy gaze, and Sebastian mumbles, “Stay.”

Kurt does.

* * *

He’s not sure what wakes him up, the nightmare or something else, but he’s glad for it.

He can’t remember the particulars of the nightmare itself – he thinks it might’ve been his mother’s funeral, or Finn’s, or perhaps Sebastian’s – but the after-effects still linger: cold perspiration covering every inch of his body, the sheets tangled around his legs, his fingers clenched into the mattress; the smell of cinnamon and vanilla from Sebastian’s detergent and air fresheners, his own sweat, the remnants of marijuana on his undershirt he wore to bed; the feeling of panic tight in his chest, the real or imagined grief still swirling in his veins, the shudders and shakes that still wreak his body as he tries to calm down.

He registers is that this is not his room, but it’s quickly placed as Sebastian’s, because he’s woken up in here too many times to count. The room is dark, but there’s still the glow from Manhattan’s constant brightness coming in through the blinds. It had taken him ages to get used to the constant lights of the city (and it’s even worse in Manhattan than in Brooklyn) but now he’s used to it as well as the sounds of a population that never really stops moving. New York had been a large culture shock, considering he had lived in a quiet suburban area of Lima, Ohio his whole life, but it’s home now. It takes ages to fall asleep if he’s surrounded by quiet and darkness.

Kurt breathes and breathes until his heart stops racing, eventually finding the energy to rub his face with his hands. He can feel Sebastian’s stare but he doesn’t acknowledge it, trying to ease himself down from the terror before he even thinks about addressing his best friend. Despite the insanity of last night, and despite the worry about how Sebastian’s doing, Kurt knows that if he doesn’t pull himself together first, he’s probably going to end up having an anxiety attack and neither one of them need to deal with that right now.

“Did I wake you?” Kurt murmurs in sleep-rough voice once he feels stable enough for speech, turning towards Sebastian. They’re side-by-side, close enough to touch, and Sebastian’s tired eyes are focussed on Kurt’s features. The lights accent his sharp bone structure and grey out his green eyes, but it also highlights the deep bruises underneath Sebastian’s eyes and the exhaustion written into every line of his face.

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Sebastian says quietly. “You alright?”

Kurt thinks about it for a moment, and then admits, “No, not really.” Sebastian’s face crumples, and Kurt reaches out immediately to take Sebastian’s hand in a comforting grip, their skin soft and warm with sleep. “It’s not your fault,” he tells Sebastian, injecting every gram of the honesty he feels into his voice. “You slipped, and that’s okay. It happens. Hell, I’m surprised it took this long, considering everything that happened a few years back. I’m not mad or upset – worried, yes, but not angry. You made a bad decision, but it’s okay. You’re safe, and you’re strong enough to pull yourself back up.”

Sebastian sniffs through the congestion in his nose, and Kurt can’t help but look into Sebastian’s downturned eyes, searching out any hint of tears. He’s a bit disappointed when he finds no evidence of them because he’s a vocal advocate of crying and Sebastian’s been bottling it up for damn near two decades. Kurt really believes that Sebastian _needs_ to cry. Still, it’s not his place to force the issue; Sebastian will break down eventually, and Kurt just hopes that he’ll be there to ease him through it.

“But I’m not really alright,” Kurt continues softly, caressing Sebastian’s hand with his thumb. “I’m furious and I want to fly to France to commit murder, and I’m scared because someone’s been watching you, and—”

“Both of us, probably,” Sebastian murmurs. Kurt frowns, because he hadn’t really thought about that before, but he doesn’t have the chance to speak up because Sebastian continues, “But that’s irrelevant. I’m sure you’ve already called my dad and he’ll take care of it. We’ll probably have some security here until his people figure out who’s been stalking us, but it’ll get taken care of. Honestly, I’m kinda surprised that it wasn’t done sooner. European prisons are notoriously lax, even more so if you have money, and God knows Nicolas has that so it’s weird that no one prepared for something like this.”

_Hindsight’s twenty-twenty_, Kurt thinks, because he never would’ve imagined that Juppé would have Sebastian followed considering he was in prison because of the testimonies, yet that depraved letter really hammered home how much Juppé wanted Sebastian and now it’s kind of obvious. And yeah, Kurt’s all about prison reform in the States, but still, he feels a lump of anger at the French prison that’s allowing a sick, disgusting excuse for an inmate to set up Sebastian’s tail and feed him information.

Kurt’s a bit creeped out that there’s almost certainly pictures and information about _him_ too – if Juppé ‘loves’ Sebastian as much as he says he does, then he’d likely want to know about the man Sebastian is living with – but Kurt can’t dwell on it. At the end of the day, Kurt definitely doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet, and Juppé can rot in hell anyway. God knows he’s going to be in a world of pain when Theodore retaliates, and even if what Theodore doesn’t hurt him, maybe the knowledge that Sebastian’s been living with another man will make him suffer in his twisted existence just a little bit more.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kurt eventually says. “He’s in prison and he’s never getting out, and your father will do everything he can to make sure it stops and never happens again. Theodore’s nothing if not resourceful.”

Sebastian cracks a smile, weak but there regardless, and squeezes Kurt’s hand softly before he sighs heavily, saying without meeting Kurt’s eyes, “I’m sorry, and it’s okay if you want to leave now, but I just wanted to say that I’m _so_ sor—”

“None of that, now,” Kurt interjects, no-nonsense and adamant but trying to keep his tone gentle. “It’s _okay_, Sebastian. I’m not mad at you. I wish you hadn’t done it, and I wish you would’ve waited for me to come home before rushing off, but it’s done now, and it’s not going to drive me away. I don’t think there’s anything that _can_ drive me away, pumpkin. Like I told you almost four years ago: you’re stuck with me, for the rest of your goddamn life, and that will _never_ change. Do you understand me?”

Sebastian exhales, shaky and weak, and then he croaks, “I swear to God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life.”

Kurt’s not entirely sure how to describe the emotion that roars through his bloodstream – except it’s not a single emotion but a plethora of them, grinding and swirling and surging with a paradoxical cold heat – and he has to squeeze his eyes together tightly to keep the stinging at bay. It almost hurts, in a way, and he has a distant thought that it should probably be alarming, but it fades away almost immediately in exchange for the man in front of him.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you either,” he croaks thickly, reaching out to pull Sebastian into his arms, fighting to keep the tears inside as he cradles the back of his best friend’s head, pressing Sebastian’s forehead into his chest.

Kurt doesn’t fall back to sleep, despite his aching head and scratchy eyelids, unwilling to stop stroking Sebastian’s spine and hair and terrified of falling back into nightmares.

* * *

The actual withdrawal is both worse and better than Kurt had expected.

He’s done a lot of research over the years, and had talked to Sebastian’s therapist about it, so he’d had a general idea of how it would go, but every person is different, and therefore Kurt had been surprised by a few aspects of it. Sebastian had been clean for years before the slip despite a history of dependence, so he had expected the physical symptoms to be mild and short in duration, and for the most part they had been: four days of cramping, sweats and chills, bone and muscle aches, tremors, restlessness and insomnia, vomiting and diarrhoea, irritability, depression, and the _cravings_...

The cravings had been the worst part of it, especially in combination with the irritability. Sebastian has elements of spitefulness and nastiness in his personality, sure, but it had been dialled up to eleven during those four days – Sebastian had had bouts of being a spitting, spiteful terror in between the depression and illness, and it had cut deep. Kurt had tried really hard not to rise up to the bloodthirsty insults and vindictive nastiness when it had happened but he’s only human, and they have some _explosive_ fights. Elliott, who’s a frequent houseguest, had to get in between them a few times, and once even had to hold Kurt back from no-shit _launching_ himself at Sebastian after a merciless dig at Kurt’s insecurities.

It’s the one major problem about getting into a fight with someone like Sebastian, who’s permeated into every single crack of Kurt until there’s seemingly no separation between them: Sebastian knows right where to hurt.

Sebastian, contrary to Kurt’s own belief when they’d both been teenagers, is not actually a cruel person, so Sebastian’s game during that week had been easy to suss out: all Sebastian had been able to think about was hurting Kurt so badly that he’d leave, all so Sebastian would be free to take off for _more-more-more_ without any consequences or guilt. Kurt had hurt so much when his own insecurities and closely guarded secrets had been used against him in the cruellest way possible by his best friend, but he had swallowed it down as best he could because he _understood_ why Sebastian was doing it, and even sympathised in a way. Kurt’s been in that situation before, albeit without drug withdrawal, and he knows how that urge to push everyone away by any means possible can result in some seriously fucked up situations.

And honestly it hadn’t gone that route very often, perhaps half a dozen times in the whole week.

The majority of it had been spent in bed or the attached bathroom, Sebastian soaked in sweat and still shivering, doubled over when the cramps had attacked his muscles and bones, harsh dry heaving and vomiting water when Kurt had managed to get fluids into him, liquid stools until there had been nothing to push out. Elliott had been there when he could, but for the most part Kurt had been alone, cleaning up and stroking Sebastian’s spine or damp hair to soothe.

It had been a long four days of sleeplessness and exhaustion for both of them, and Kurt’s so fucking relieved when the physical symptoms are over.

The following weeks are rough too, though in different ways. The emotional and psychological cravings are still there, even if Sebastian’s physically back to himself, and while the irritability and aggression is gone, the depression lingers. It’s a miracle that Sebastian doesn’t go down, because his attention span is all over the place and it seems like he’s _always_ sleeping, but he doesn’t, drudging his way through his finals and sleeping in Kurt’s bed for a solid week when school’s finally out for the summer hols.

He does go to Kurt’s graduation from NYADA the week after, and he does try to get involved and active in the festivities – their whole social group goes to a Broadway show, then dinner, and they close out the night by getting completely shitfaced at Kurt and Sebastian’s favourite club and passing out at the Bushwick loft in a massive pile of bodies – but it’s clear that he’s not really feeling it. Yes, Kurt can tell that Sebastian’s genuinely proud of him, and is grinning broadly every time there’s a toast to Kurt or someone else is congratulating him, but Sebastian’s clearly not in the mood to socialise or get hammered. He barely even touches the alcohol, and certainly doesn’t pick up a guy like he usually does. If anything, he spends the majority of the time at Kurt’s side, which isn’t uncommon, per se, but also isn’t very like him either.

Just another chip in the walk of life, and they figure it out eventually, getting back into their daily grind, though half an ear is dedicated to hearing what happens with Juppé. That process is actually rather quick, the French justice system actually moving fast in nipping _that_ in the bud, and a few weeks after Juppé is denied outside interaction for the next two years, a group of four private investigators are arrested. No charges stick, since they’d been hired legally through an intermediary, but at least they stop stalking Sebastian, mostly because they aren’t being paid by Juppé’s estate anymore.

Good fucking riddance.

* * *

Kurt starts focussing on his future.

Now that Kurt’s out of NYADA, he starts auditioning for shows even as he plays around with the idea of going back to school. He loves the idea of spending his entire life on Broadway but he also understands the reality of it: bouncing back and between jobs, constant auditioning, practically living paycheque to paycheque until he gets a name for himself (if that even happens), always being slightly-to-heavily anxious about future prospects. It’s not an easy route, he knows, and though he has a leg up because he went to NYADA, there’s no guarantee that he’ll make it to the point where he can genuinely support himself without always being nervous about the next job or pay packet.

He does research in the middle of auditioning and callbacks and eventually jobs, and Burt nudges him in the direction of fashion – which, admittedly, is certainly on Kurt’s short list – until he’s pretty much focussed on fashion design. He has his bachelor’s from NYADA, but as a trade school, he’s likely going to have to start with another Bachelor’s, though through a fast-track since he’s already completed a good chunk of the credits, and he also looks at schools in multiple places despite being desperately allured by Parsons’ New School in Greenwich. He tells himself that he’s being thorough with his options, wanting to apply to multiple places instead of a single one in an effort to save himself from the clusterfuck that was his senior year of high school, but he also knows that he’s stalling. It’s not that he’s wary of doing another degree, because he’s not, but he _is_ waiting for Sebastian to graduate.

It’s the biggest part of life, moving on and away from loved ones and family – Kurt’s done it a few times now, and it’s one of the hardest things in the world. With Sebastian though, he can’t even _bear_ the thought of being in a different state or country for such a long period of time, and there’s no way to know where Sebastian will be accepted into for medical school. As Sebastian’s own base schooling comes to an end, his final year more hectic and competitive than ever, Sebastian’s already starting to build packages and write his essays for admission, and there are quite a few schools he’s looking at all around the country. All Kurt knows is that, if at all possible, he wants to be in the same place as Sebastian, even if that means he has to leave New York, and he wonders if that’s even appropriate. They’ve been stuck to each other like glue since the second Sebastian graduated high school (and since before even that, if he’s honest), and he’s worried that Sebastian will _want_ to move away just to experience life without Kurt always at his shoulder.

They talk about it, when Sebastian finishes his mid-term finals and yet still has shit to work on and study for but is relatively unpressured. It’s a normal day, in the sense that Kurt’s exhausted from a two-show day of ensemble for Book of Mormon and is going around their flat in a delirious haze as he decorates for Christmas while Sebastian sits in the front room with his laptop and books scattered literally _everywhere_, like an impenetrable wall of school that surrounds him. Hell, he even has all five billion of his biology and chem books on the couch behind him, balancing precariously and wobbling every time he shifts or Kurt rushes past.

“Not even worth thinking about,” Sebastian says distractedly, when Kurt tentatively brings up the idea of them being in different cities for the next chapter of their lives. “I’ll get into Columbia’s programme without a doubt, and I want to do my fellowship here in the city anyway, so it just makes sense.”

“You’ve always wanted to go to John Hopkins or Harvard for med school,” Kurt points out.

“And Columbia’s one of the top ten med schools in the country,” Sebastian shoots back, fingers flying over his keyboard as he types some gibberish on his laptop. Through osmosis or something, Kurt’s pretty well-versed in medical jargon and application, but Sebastian’s essays _are_ gibberish because they’re so detail-heavy and thick with lingo, so he just ignores that bit and listens to Sebastian go on excitable rants about things he’s learning at a level Kurt can understand.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sebastian continues, “I’m going to apply to a lot of schools and do the interviews and it’ll be ridiculously tempting _when_ I get accepted into everything to pick something like John Hopkins, and it’s definitely a _when_ because I’m awesome like that, but I’m sticking with Columbia. I like the school, I like the professors, I like New York, I like our friends, and I like the home we’ve made here. The only way I’m leaving Columbia is if they decline my application, and there’s no way in hell they’ll do that. I’m in the top one percent of this graduating class, and have been for every year I’ve attended. They’d be stupid to let me go, and even if they do, there’s always bribing.”

“Don’t pull a Felicity Huffman,” Kurt quips with a grin, snagging some fairy lights to dangle over the electric fireplace mantle and trying not to fall on his arse with relief that Sebastian’s point-blank said that he’s happy with Kurt and the life they’ve built.

“Won’t have to,” Sebastian replies confidently. “I’m a God-given gift to mankind, and Columbia will beg to keep me there.”

Kurt’s tempted to throw the wad of tangled lights at his best friend’s head, but figures that it’ll just tangle them more and doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of it. Besides, Kurt’s pretty sure that if one book falls, they’re _all_ going to fall, and he doesn’t want Sebastian crushed to death by a good sixty books and a half-empty coffee mug right before he starts his last term in pre-med. Sebastian would rise from the grave just to murder him.

Sebastian grabs a book from a precarious pile on the coffee table and starts thumbing through it as he adds, “And you’re staying here or I’ll fight you. Physically. I’ll probably lose, considering all that hand-to-hand combat shit you do, but I’ll still fight you. It’ll be messy and incredibly problematic, and you know that I hate messy and problematic.”

“Luckily for you, I _also_ hate messy and problematic,” Kurt says with a relieved laugh. “You have to admit that you’d probably be able to have loud and athletic sex in more places if I wasn’t here though.”

Sebastian snorts, index finger trailing down the page as he reads and pays attention to their conversation. Kurt envies his ability to multitask like that, and is once again tempted to throw the fairy lights at his head, even though he’s almost done untangling them. “First off, I don’t want to talk about sex or I’m going to throw a temper tantrum right here in the middle of my book fort because I’m being cockblocked by said books. Secondly, I’ve done that plenty, including while you were in the same _bed_ as me. If I recall correctly, you dumped a bottle of water on our heads and physically kicked us to the floor.”

“You passed out right after too,” Kurt says with a cackle. “What’s-his-face was _so_ disappointed.”

“Eh, he ended up sleeping with Elliott about four minutes after he apparently walked out anyway, so no big deal,” Sebastian replies, throwing the book on the floor and nearly toppling the stack he’d been aiming for. “Besides, we met up a few weeks later at that party James threw in Astoria, and he was making out with Anderson so I clearly avoided a mistake there.”

“I don’t remember that,” Kurt admits. “Which Anderson? And was I not there or something?”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, though there’s a small smile playing on his lips. “Anderson Thomas, not Blainers. You were dating Caleb at the time, but you were also pretty drunk and—”

“I ended up getting—yeah, okay, let’s _not_, please,” Kurt splutters desperately, red with remembered embarrassment of his escapades of dancing almost naked on a coffee table before falling off entirely. When Sebastian nearly falls over laughing himself, both hands clutching his laptop and probably typing random letters on the end of his essay, Kurt finally does ball up the untangled lights and throws them at Sebastian.

“Oi!” he yells out, throwing them back after a moment of flailing from books falling, and Kurt’s laughing now too, even though Sebastian’s impeccable aim means that he ends up getting hit in the face. “That was rude,” he grumbles through his grin, flipping Kurt the bird and closing his laptop. “I demand compensation to my plight and suffering.”

“What d’you want, my firstborn?”

“Yes,” Sebastian states with a bright grin. “Your firstborn _and_ more coffee.”

“You have legs, you little shit!”

“They’ve been irreparably damaged by anatomy books!”

“Whomp-whomp, you big baby, have a listen to the world’s smallest violin!”

“I demand pampering and firstborns!”

“Oh my God you two, get a fuckin’ room,” they both hear from the foyer, followed by a few giggles and a door slam. Sebastian and Kurt look at each other and instantly pick up non-lethal weapons of choice, and when Elliott, Rachel, and Jesse walk into the front room, fairy lights and a tiny Christmas tree go flying.

After more spluttering, a few projectiles being thrown (namely the fairy lights _again_ and a bundle of croissants), and a coffee spill, they all find themselves huddled around the coffee table, which is cleared off just enough to place their collective coffees and treats, Kurt giving up on decorating now that some of their friends are here to chat.

Elliott eyes the piles of books with wariness. “Once again I am happy that I didn’t go to med school like my parents wanted me to. Also, are you sure you aren’t just loading up on info so you can best effectively murder all of us in ways that will be thrown out as natural causes?”

“He wouldn’t kill Kurt,” Jesse says with a snort. “Maybe the rest of us, but not him. We should be very afraid.”

“Probably,” Sebastian says with a shit-eating grin, even though Kurt can tell it’s pretty thin. Makes sense, since they’d all had plans to go out now that Sebastian’s finals are over and they could finally go get Sebastian laid (he’s just as much of a terror when he’s sexually frustrated as Kurt is, which isn’t fun for anyone), but Sebastian has a thousand things to finish and is probably going to decline to go out with the others.

Rachel seems to see that too. “How much work do you have? Seems like a lot, judging by the mountain of books you’re shielded by.”

Sebastian’s good mood evaporates and he says with a sigh, “Too much. I have four papers to write by Wednesday, a lab to start prepping for, and three more school admissions to finish before the deadline. It’s just—yeah, I’m gonna pass, I think, unless you find some hot guy to send my way for a quickie. That’s probably the only way I’m going to get laid until I graduate. Let Kurt make the call – he knows my type and I don’t trust any of you idiots.”

“Why don’t you just fuck each other?” Jesse asks, and instantly the entire room looks at the offending individual, who simply shrugs at the increased tension. After all, it’s not really a thing that their friend group talks about, mostly because the second someone even alludes to Kurt and Sebastian _doing anything_ – be it a relationship or even just casual sex – they shut that shit down faster than the hand of God. Kurt thinks it’s because everyone except possibly Sebastian already knows that Kurt is in love with him, and don’t want to bring it up lest Kurt go into full-on bitch mode, but he’s not entirely sure. At the end of the day, it’s not a something that anyone talks about, except random guys that ask for a threesome when Sebastian does have the ability to pull.

“What?” Jesse says indignantly, throwing his hands up in his usual dramatic fashion. “I know we don’t talk about it, but whatever. Sebastian’s one of my best friends, who’s a _bitch_ when he’s not getting any, and Kurt’s one of my best friends, who’s _also_ a bitch when he’s not getting any, and you two are the ultimate best friends, so why isn’t it a thing? Nothing wrong with friends-with-benefits, as you both already know, you already live together so it’s convenient, Kurt’s not in a relationship right now, you already know what the other likes in bed to an almost obscene amount of detail, and it’ll keep everyone else happy because you aren’t being total assholes to everyone else, though I imagine that the arguing thing is like foreplay for you two. What, you afraid you’re gonna end up married with three-point-two kids and a dog in the ‘burbs if you fuck for some simple stress relief?”

_Not exactly_, Kurt thinks. _Mostly just terrified that it’ll flip the switch between Best Friend Sebastian and Love Of My Life Sebastian, and that’s not what either of us needs right now. Or ever._

“For the record, Kurt and I will never live in the suburbs,” Sebastian states. Kurt blinks with surprise and opens his mouth to instinctively agree, but Sebastian continues flatly, “Look, I get why that seems so simple, and if you put it like that, it does seem pretty straightforward. Hell, it’s not like either of us have been quiet about finding each other attractive, and we’d obviously be _awesome_ in the sack. But Kurt doesn’t do casual sex and besides, that’s between us. For all you know, we already have and you just don’t know it, or maybe we had this conversation before and decided that we didn’t want to go there. So I get it, and it does seem pretty simple, but how we conduct our relationship is between us and while we appreciate the...effort to get us both laid, apparently with each other, we’re gonna keep our personal things personal, between each other. Cool?”

Kurt blinks again, completely taken aback, as Jesse shrugs and says, “Hey, I’ve been friends with you two for three years now, and no one says it so I did. Sure, it’s between you two, but figured I’d air that quiet bit of laundry out anyway, since no one wants to bring it up and put it out in the open. Whatever you guys do, with each other or other people, will always have _my_ support, because you guys were the first to support me with Rachel, but I have to say that you guys are already an old married couple. Might as well have some super-gay sex to sweeten it up a bit.”

“_Jesse_,” Rachel admonishes, laying a hand on his arm.

Jesse huffs, but deflates a bit, running his free hand through his thick hair. “Yeah, I get that there are...things to account for, probably a shit-tonne more than I even know about, but I’ve said it and it’s done. We’ll pick you out some hot piece of ass, let Kurt give the vote of ultimate approval, and then get your dick sucked, Sebastian.”

“My very _attractive_ dick sucked,” Sebastian leers, all teeth and wiggling eyebrows.

“Oh my God, I need new friends,” Kurt finally says, still reeling but pleased that his voice comes out even.

* * *

Kurt can’t stop thinking about it.

He’s thankful that he’s solid on Mormon, because otherwise he’d be flubbing his choreography since he’s so scatter-brained, and is thankful that he’s out of school, because he’d probably go down. He’s completely distracted, all the time, and if his relationship with Sebastian wasn’t so strong and easy, Kurt would probably be mucking it up by avoiding him or stuttering over his words.

He thinks he pulls off his distraction pretty well over the next few weeks, no one seeming to really notice that he’s so harried, but then Sebastian shuts his laptop and tells Kurt to sit down.

Kurt sighs, stops pacing the kitchen while he waits for the lasagne to finish cooking, and sits heavily in the barstool next to Sebastian, fighting the urge to fidget or pick at non-existent lint on his trousers in exchange for staring at the countertop, really not looking forward to this conversation.

Sebastian watches him for a second, quiet and observing, and then he says, “Alright, get it out. You’re giving me anxiety.”

“You were born with anxiety,” Kurt says automatically, though it’s half-hearted at best, then sighs again. He has no idea where to even start, how to articulate the wild thoughts that are rolling through his head: the fact that Sebastian had all but stated that they’d probably already _be_ having sex if Kurt was into casual rolls in the hay, the fact that everything Jesse had said made _sense_, the fact that Sebastian had alluded to being open about having these types of conversations—and, well, that apparently is happening now, and what the fuck even is his life?

When the silence stretches out too long, Kurt’s mouth opening and closing as he tries to work out what to say, Sebastian finally drawls, “Okay, so this is going well.” Kurt can’t help but laugh weakly, but it cuts off when Sebastian continues, “This is what I think’s going on, considering when you started getting weird. You heard what Jesse said and thought it made sense, and now you’re freaking out about it.”

Kurt laughs again. “Kind of,” he admits, folding his hands together and pressing them against cool marble. “It _did_ make sense, what he said, and you...well—”

“None of this matters, Kurt,” Sebastian interrupts.

Kurt musters up the courage to look at Sebastian, frowning heavily at the total lack of concern on Sebastian’s face. “How do you figure?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Sebastian shrugs. “Nothing can be summed up solely on facts when it comes to people. You can state until you’re blue in the face what the facts are, simple common sense or not, but it doesn’t matter when it comes to the human condition. The facts are exactly what Jesse said: it’s convenient, we find each other attractive, we would absolutely have a great time if we did have sex, it wouldn’t get weird because we’re close enough to know what we both like and we’re good enough friends to figure our shit out once we’d fucked, and since neither of us are getting any, our moods would probably be less annoying to our friends if we scratched that itch. All of that is true. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t mean shit, because you don’t have casual sex for your own moral reasons, and I’m not friends with you to get into your pants. You’re—we’ve worked our asses off to have the friendship we have, gone through some serious shit in the past four years and come out stronger and better for it, and our libidos have no relevancy to that. Celibacy hasn’t killed anyone, regardless of what both of us might say when we’re cursing life for evil workloads or lack of sane options, and it’s not going to kill either of us now. Just because the facts make sense doesn’t mean that it’s necessary or even practical.”

“You’re saying it’s not practical?” Kurt asks, turning in his stool to face Sebastian dead-on, even though his chest is tight with a large bundle of emotions that he can’t quite unravel enough to process individually.

Sebastian huffs with amusement. “Okay, so it’s practical, sure, but only in a physical—”

“But you’d totally sleep with me,” Kurt interjects, trying to make it as a joking quip but definitely failing because his voice is quiet and kind of breathless.

It makes Sebastian pause, eyes narrowing, and he turns himself as well, their knees knocking together. It feels charged, their bodies touching, and that’s so unlike every other time they’ve touched – sure, Kurt’s been attracted to Sebastian before and has had physical responses to him, whether by touching or just by thinking of him, but it’s never felt _heavy_ like this, as if there’s an undercurrent in the air that’s putting pressure on his skin. He knows what it is – he felt it with Blaine and Jason right before they’d had sex for the first time, that thick and electric awareness, felt it with two very different men who he’d fallen in love with in very different ways, and he wonders if he should feel alarmed that he’s feeling it now. He doesn’t, though, and maybe it’ll hit later that he’s crossed the point of no return, but that’s a problem for Future Kurt, not Present Kurt. Besides, he doesn’t think it really matters in the end, because he’s _known_ that Sebastian is it for him, has known that for _years_, and all those other relationships he’s had pale in comparison to what he already has platonically with Sebastian.

Maybe it’ll hurt later, but he genuinely doesn’t think so. He’s been in love with Sebastian for a long time, and honestly, he’s familiar with waiting. Like he told Sebastian all those years ago, even if it takes decades for Sebastian to be ready, Kurt would in all honestly probably be waiting anyway, subconsciously or not. He’s always had the thought in the back of his mind that none of his relationships had worked out because he was already taken in everything but name and action.

In the end, it’s not going to change anything, because he already loves Sebastian with every iota of himself, and he’s already proven that he’s capable of not letting it get in the middle of their relationship. Sleeping with each other isn’t going to change that.

“Kurt, do you know what you’re asking?” Sebastian asks, and his eyes are as deep as his voice.

They’re so close, and Kurt feels like he can’t breathe, air caught in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest. Scratch his last thought, because he’s _never_ felt like this before, like he’s right on the edge of a cliff and is about ready to tumble off the side, gravity pulling him down and he’s fucked, he’s well and truly fucked. He wants nothing more than to reach out and pull him in, kiss and lick and bite every millimetre of Sebastian’s body in all the places Kurt knows he likes it, but there’s something more important than that so he says quietly, “Yeah. Is it weird?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of weird,” Sebastian replies, almost a whisper, and his eyes are flickering around Kurt’s face as if searching for something. Maybe he’s looking for even the slightest inclination of hesitation or trepidation, but he’s not going to find it on Kurt’s face, because Kurt wants this, he really does. Sebastian asks again, “Are you sure you know what you’re asking?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, a small smile quirking at his lips. “You totally want to have sex with me,” he adds with amusement, and it’s almost surprising that his prick is starting to twitch to life in his trousers, because that’s not something he associates with Sebastian. Not really, anyway, and certainly not deliberately.

Sebastian laughs. “Oh my God, you’re the absolute worst and I hate you. _Yes_, I’m totally on board with us having sex because you’re hot and my best friend and it’d be fun as fuck but are you _sure_ that _you’re_ comfortabl—”

Kurt kisses him.

Sebastian freezes for a full second before he seems to literally _melt_, mouth falling open around a sigh and allowing Kurt to take, hands coming up to thread his fingers in Kurt’s hair, and _oh_, yes, this is nice, he’s missed kissing. Kurt leans forward, his own hands falling on Sebastian’s knees before dragging up until he’s grasping the lean muscle of his thighs, the angle awkward and slightly uncomfortable but unwilling to pull away. Their mouths tentatively move against each other, exploring this very new thing, and it’s so ridiculously gentle, not at all what Kurt would’ve ever expected after knowing (and occasionally seeing) Sebastian during his sexual exploits over the years.

They part, both of them breathing heavily, and Sebastian’s eyes are so very green and wide, pupils large in the soft light of the kitchen. He’s fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful, that it takes Kurt’s breath away, and yes, he could do this for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

“Still weird?” he asks a little hoarsely, trying for a grin but probably only looking a bit wild.

Sebastian pulls away completely and stares at Kurt for a solid thirty seconds in utter silence before he abruptly stands up, Kurt’s hands sort of dangling where Sebastian’s thighs had been for a moment. He blinks once in surprise as Sebastian turns on his heel and beelines for the other side of the island, and by the time Sebastian’s at the cooker, slamming his finger down on the off button even though the lasagne isn’t done yet, Kurt’s already on his feet. He strides forward himself until he gets his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders, bodily turning him around and pressing him into the counter, hands moving to Sebastian’s waist and bodily lifting him up until he’s sat on the countertop and Kurt can press close, taking his mouth again without any hesitation this time.

“Not weird, oh my God, definitely not weird,” Sebastian gasps against Kurt’s lips, and fuck, Kurt can feel his prick against his stomach now, thickening underneath his pants and pyjama bottoms, and the surge of desire that rushes through his bloodstream at the evidence of Sebastian’s arousal is heady and almost overwhelming. He hears himself make a small, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, almost a whine, before he’s kissing Sebastian again, letting his hands roam over every bit of him he can manage, desperately wanting more. He slips his hands under Sebastian’s shirt, dragging his fingernails up Sebastian’s chest until he’s dizzy with Sebastian’s thick groan that he swallows with another deep kiss, raking his nails along ridges and muscles until he can flick over Sebastian’s nipples.

He has a vague thought that maybe they should move to somewhere more comfortable but he can’t follow through with the thought, disconnecting their mouths only long enough to get Sebastian’s shirt off, and Sebastian’s own hands are scrambling at Kurt’s buttons. “Off, off, get it _off_,” he rasps out against Kurt’s lips, sounding strangled, and Kurt can’t stop _kissing_ him even as his hands drop to help tackle buttons, eventually shrugging it off and letting it fall carelessly to the floor without so much as a thought.

He pulls away only to drag his teeth up the tendon in Sebastian’s throat, relishing the loud groan that rips from Sebastian’s vocal folds, and he _wants_, wants everything and anything, wants it _now_. He can feel Sebastian rocking against his stomach, the rock-hard prick thick and hot even between their clothes, and Kurt gasps when Sebastian all but surges forward, the suddenness of it nearly knocking Kurt off-balance until Sebastian’s crowding him against the other side of the island, hands scrambling at Kurt’s trousers like he’s dying to get them off.

“I need you _now_,” Sebastian breathes, and Kurt lets out a sound that he can’t even describe when Sebastian falls down to his knees with barely a wince, pulling his trousers and briefs down with him, and swallows his prick whole.

“_Fuck_,” Kurt whispers, vision tunnelling with _hot-wet-fuck-he’s-good-at-this_ and the sight of Sebastian’s lips wrapped around his prick. He threads his fingers through Sebastian’s wild hair, stomach tightening with arousal when Sebastian groans around his length, sucking as he digs his fingernails into Kurt’s thighs. He tentatively rocks forward as he pulls Sebastian’s head down, balls throbbing when Sebastian groans again, and it’s one thing knowing that Sebastian likes having his throat fucked but another thing entirely to actively experience it first-hand, feeling Sebastian’s throat around him and physically controlling his head with a firm grip.

It’s almost obscene how good Sebastian is at this, not just bobbing up and down but sucking and licking and humming in the back of his throat, fingernails scraping up Kurt’s thighs in unpredictable patterns, and everything is so good, so hot and tight and wet and filthy, saliva dripping everywhere and oh God, if Sebastian doesn’t fucking stop he’s—

He pulls Sebastian off and practically yanks him up, pulling him into a sloppy kiss that tastes like Kurt’s precome even as he begins pushing them towards the bedroom. They get as far as the corridor before Kurt’s pushing him against a wall, hands tugging at Sebastian’s remaining clothing until they’re both naked except their socks, hand stroking over his own prick to get it wet with Sebastian’s lingering spit before he’s slotting their erections together, pulling at them both and attacking Sebastian’s throat with his teeth when Sebastian’s head falls against the wall with a thick moan.

“God, fuck, _Kurt_,” Sebastian gasps, voice rough from the blowjob and arousal, one hand falling to cover Kurt’s own to help pull their pricks as the other grasps a handful of Kurt’s arse, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough, they’ll _never_ be close enough, God, he’s so fucking gone for this man and he’s going to vibrate out of his fucking _skin_ from the need.

“_Please_,” Sebastian whispers, and Kurt sucks at his throat hard enough to bruise as Sebastian’s tightens up, a shout echoing in their flat as he comes, shaking and shivering and curling into Kurt’s body as best he can as come pulses between their fingers, slick and oily and oh _God_, Kurt’s coming, he’s coming he’s—

It’s almost painful but he can’t stop pulling at both of them through the sensitivity, hips jerking as his come mixes with Sebastian’s, and God it’s so good, so fucking _perfect_, feeling Sebastian cry out and curl against him like he’s trying to climb inside Kurt’s body by sheer will. His entire body feels like a live wire, over-stimulated and covered in perspiration, and he finally has to stop around a small sob, twitching and shaking himself even as he slumps against Sebastian, pressing both of their heaving bodies against the wall heavily.

They pant against each other for a long time, and Kurt can feel Sebastian’s fingers – one hand sticky with drying come – trailing up and down his spine soothingly. He realises that he’s echoing Sebastian’s movements across his ribs after a moment of dazed fogginess from his orgasm, and _God_, he never wants to move, even though his legs feel like they’re going to give out at any second.

“Definitely not weird,” Sebastian says, his rough voice still soft somehow, and nudges at Kurt’s jaw with his nose until Kurt pulls his face from his neck. Sebastian kisses him then, a gentle and quiet thing that’s almost sweet, and Kurt smiles against Sebastian’s lips because no, it’s not weird. It’s fucking perfect, and he never wants it to end.

“Somewhat gross though,” Kurt can’t help but quip teasingly when they break apart. “You got come on me, you _bitch_.”

Sebastian shoves him away, laughing so hard he nearly falls over.

They head to Sebastian’s room to shower, sniggering and pushing at each other, occasionally stopping to press laughing kisses against each other’s lips, and it’s so _good_, easy and calm and comfortable, and maybe the cold light of morning will make it feel more real but right now Kurt can’t quite recall why he’d denied himself this. Maybe it’s not everything he wants, but it’s _real_, and that’s all that matters in the end. They’re still them, nothing changing now that they’ve had sex, and it doesn’t matter if they’re not in a romantic relationship if they’re both sated and happy, giggling with each other and totally at ease. He wonders if this is what Sebastian feels every time he’s with someone, after the horrible trauma of his childhood, and he hopes so, because Sebastian’s absolutely right: it _is_ comfortable and meaningful even without love behind it, giving and receiving something pleasurable for all parties, the passion and trust making it beautiful just as much as love would. He’s not going to go out and have casual sex, no, because he already has that mutual love with Sebastian even if it’s platonic on one side, but he truly _gets_ it now, what Sebastian’s been saying all these years while Kurt just accepted that Sebastian was speaking from his own experience and boundaries.

They clean up, and that itself wouldn’t be odd – they have showered together loads of times – except this time is different. They run soapy hands over each other’s bodies and press kisses against warm skin, and it’s intimate without being cloying or charged with arousal. Sure, they’re both starting to get hard, but it’s an absent thing, just getting clean without any real agenda, and it’s nice, especially since Kurt knows from personal experience that shower sex is notoriously difficult and more of a pain in the arse than arousing.

They dry off and fall into bed, tired despite their half-hard pricks, and Kurt falls asleep stroking Sebastian’s damp hair, the rhythmic breathing from Sebastian’s lax body against his own soothing. He drifts and dozes, dreams flickering and quickly forgotten every time he briefly wakes up like he always does during the night, and Sebastian stays curled around him until he wakes up with Sebastian’s mouth around his prick, sleepily sucking him down and fondling his aching balls until Kurt arches into his mouth with a soft sigh, stroking Sebastian’s jaw as he swallows him down. He responds in kind, eyes closed with the tang of Sebastian’s precome on his tongue and jaw aching from the girth of his prick, until there’s come flooding his mouth in warm pulses and he falls asleep with his cheek on Sebastian’s stomach, fingers sleepily carding through his hair, and the taste of his best friend in his mouth.

He sleeps, and this time he doesn’t dream.

* * *

Everything changes, and yet nothing changes at all.

Sebastian’s still buried in homework and med school applications, and Kurt’s still doing eight shows a week for Mormon while auditioning for other roles, and they still occasionally have friends over for dinner when they’re both home and up for visitors, but at the same time it’s very different.

They are always in each other’s beds, which isn’t really unusual except they’re falling asleep naked and sated now, and sometimes it’s not even in bed – they have sex on pretty much every surface and wall in the flat, sometimes fast and desperate and sometimes just taking their time to put their abstract knowledge of each other’s body to a more practical use. It’s delicious to map out Sebastian’s figure, to physically feel and see Sebastian react to the stimulation, and it definitely leads to a few discoveries of his own.

The first time they do anal, Sebastian spends an almost _obscene_ amount of time prepping him, both externally and internally, figuring out his body to a level of awareness that is insanely thorough. He almost feels selfish, except he does the same thing to his partners when they ask for it, and it feels _so good_, even though he still has a preference toward giving. When Sebastian finally slides into him, so aware of where Kurt’s most sensitive that he rakes across Kurt’s prostate on the first push in, he almost dies with how good feels, panting and burying his head into Sebastian’s damp neck and begging helplessly for _more-more-please-more_.

One of the major differences, outside of the sex anyway, that Kurt notices is that Sebastian watches him more often, an inscrutable expression on his face as if he’s working something out in his head. Kurt’s tempted to ask about it, but ultimately decides that it doesn’t matter – Sebastian will tell him soon enough, and as long as Sebastian doesn’t pull away from him without explanation or gets weird, he can be patient. It’s probably something sexual in nature anyway, because they’re very inventive when they have the time and energy to do more than just rut against each other like animals.

The sex does die down the closer Sebastian gets to graduating, though, and when they do fuck around it’s more hurried and wild than anything, but Kurt loves that too, especially when Sebastian gets over-stressed and starts snapping at him, which leads to an argument, which leads to truly _spectacular_ sex if Kurt says so himself. He’s pretty sure he’s never gotten off that hard in his life, and he vaguely wonders what it says about him that he gets off harder from rough sex than the soft imaginings of his teenaged fantasies (though he gets off hard with that too, of course).

It kind of makes sense too, with Sebastian. Their entire relationship is mutually engaging, always supportive and honest, slightly argumentative, and full of snark and sass, so it stands to reason that their sex life would follow that vein.

They don’t confirm or deny anything to their friends, but while they act no different with each other in public – they’ve always been tactile with each other, touching and pushing and teasing – Kurt knows that Rachel, at least, is a bit suspicious, judging by the looks she gives them. Maybe it’s just their moods evening out despite the insane stress Sebastian’s under that’s making her study them, or maybe she’s noticed Sebastian looking at Kurt just like Kurt himself has, but ultimately he thinks that the rest of their social group are none-the-wiser to how their relationship has changed. It’s probably a good thing, if he’s honest – they get enough shit from everyone in their lives about ‘being an old married couple’, and he really doesn’t want to hear it all over again now that things have changed again, especially since everyone and their grandmothers know that Kurt doesn’t have sex without being in a committed relationship.

Well, as far as Kurt’s concerned, they _are_ in a committed relationship, just not quite the kind that they’d all expect.

And it’s none of their business anyway. Sebastian and Kurt are closer than ever, which he hadn’t thought possible in the first place, and he wonders how much happiness he’s allowed to have before it all comes crashing down on them.

* * *

Sebastian graduates summa cum laude, the overachieving, masochistic bastard.

Sebastian is practically _dead_, dark eye sockets sunken in and slightly thinner from a lot of missed meals as he turned into a literal wreck over the last month, but there’s no mistaking the unmitigated _joy_ on his face when he steps across the stage to get his diploma, or how his voice shakes with fatigue and delirious excitement when he gives his speech, or how he’s unable to sit still, all but vibrating with elation. Kurt is pretty sure his face is going to break to pieces considering how much he’s smiled during the ceremony and subsequent dinner, pretty much vibrating himself, and he’s so fucking _proud_ of Sebastian, achieving the highest honour at _Columbia-fucking-University_ despite all the shit thrown his way over the years.

He’s not ashamed to admit that he cried like a baby during Sebastian’s speech.

They’re in the middle of the group – Kurt’s parents, their entire friend group, and the large assortment of Sebastian’s family from parents to twice-removed cousins, a whopping forty-eight people in various states of inebriation and propriety depending on country of origin (read: the French side is baffled and exasperated by the American boisterousness and loud bouts of cheering) – when Sebastian grabs his wrist and makes half-hearted apologies, eyes glassy and feverish from mixture of bone-deep exhaustion and intermittent elation. He slows down his footsteps until they’re trailing behind the madness, close enough to vaguely make out their words but far enough away where they can speak somewhat in private.

Privacy’s hard to come by at the moment. While their friends obviously live in the city, their parents are a different story entirely, and considering the French way of collecting together in a horde, their flat is full to bursting, all four bedrooms taken (including Kurt’s) and the entire sitting room taken over by a dogpile of children. At least Kurt’s parents are staying at a hotel close by, or they’d end up having to room them in Sebastian’s room too, where Kurt’s camping out himself, and that’s just...awkward to think about. It’s already weird enough thinking about Sebastian’s family sleeping in and briefly cohabitating in the same flat that they’ve copiously and frequently had athletic and vocal sex in without bringing his own parents into it.

“Shoot,” he says simply when they’re far enough away, threading his fingers between Sebastian’s and trying to bite back any further rambling.

Sebastian sighs, laughs a bit deliriously, and sighs again before he says, “As much as I’d love to go home and sleep for the next six months, I was wondering if we could wake up a bit early and go get coffee. Or we can go get coffee now, if you don’t want to wait. I just need to talk to you, and I don’t want to wait a week to have some privacy, because my family will _definitely_ eavesdrop like the heathens they are.”

Kurt presses his lips together, brain whirling with possibilities, and then asks slowly, “Should I be worried?”

Sebastian grins, a bit too wildly for Kurt’s tastes, though he supposes it’s warranted considering the past week’s insanity. “No, probably not. It’s nothing bad, just...important.”

Kurt lets Sebastian’s answer roll around in his head for a long minute before he says, “Well, half of me wants to say we should wait until tomorrow, because you’re dead on your feet and practically drunk from exhaustion so there’s no telling how coherent you’ll be, but the other half of me knows that I won’t be able to sleep until I know what’s going on and also has intimate familiarity with how coherent you can be when you actually _are_ drunk so...do you want to do a runner now, or wait until we’ve said our goodbyes at the station?”

“I’ll never hear the end of it from Santana if I don’t say goodbye, so wait until the station? We could go to Gabriella’s place, since it’s close.”

“Yeah, that’s always a good choice,” Kurt says. “Drip though, no real coffee even if you might want it because you want to stay awake for this, or you’ll be awake half the night, deal?”

“Deal,” Sebastian agrees, and tugs them both back to the mess of family and friends.

They say their goodbyes and then beg off after giving Lorraine the key to the flat, walking the three blocks to one of their favourite coffee shops in the area, mostly because Sebastian feels like their coffee is ‘vastly superior’ to American versions and Kurt because he _adores_ their macarons. When they entre, Aimée is at the counter, and she greets them in trilling French before immediately ringing them up, holding a hand out for Kurt’s card by the time they get to the counter. By the time she’s poured their coffees – black drip without even needing to ask, a testament on how often they come here for their evening cup – and given them complementary scones, they’ve talked about Sebastian’s graduation, the excitement of having family in one place, the weather, and how she wants to break the arms of one of her co-workers, all in rapid French.

Kurt is lost for about half of it, like he always is. For all the stereotypes about French speakers being drawling and meticulous with their verbiage, listening to two native speakers go off at each other (or, God forbid, when Sebastian’s with his _family_ and they’re not making a conscious attempt to include him) is like listening to an auctioneer on speed sometimes.

He wonders if he’ll ever be able to match it, even though he is getting better at the speed, both speaking and listening.

They take their coffees to a corner table, and due to the late hour it’s not too crowded, so they have relative privacy. They sit, shift around to get comfortable, and take a few sips of their coffee, the silence vaguely awkward as Kurt waits for Sebastian to speak. They stare at each other for a long time, and Kurt eventually opens his mouth to start the conversation himself, but he never gets the chance.

“Can I ask you a question first, and trust you to be completely honest?” Sebastian questions, voice even and eyes steady, though to be fair it’s still pretty obvious that he’s exhausted and wired on adrenaline.

“I think I forgot how to lie to you about four years ago, so yes,” Kurt says truthfully, and wonders if he should be nervous.

Sebastian takes another sip of his coffee, hums under his breath, and then asks point-blank, “Are you in love with me?”

Kurt blinks once, then twice, and then breathes out a laugh, shaking his head because wow, that was _not_ the question he was anticipating. Still, this has been rolling around in his head for a while now, years upon years upon years, and he’s solidified his thoughts now that they’re fooling around; in addition, this is one topic where he _has_ to be honest, because this is a big deal for Sebastian, and Kurt owes him the truth.

He takes a deep breath and says quietly, “It’s complicated, because the answer is yes _and_ no.” Sebastian frowns with confusion, mouth parting to speak, but Kurt asks seemingly at random, “You know how you want to be a doctor?”

Sebastian cocks his head, frown deepening, and replies curiously, “Yes?”

“Right,” Kurt says, curling his hands around his cup to keep his hands steady. With a concentrated effort to keep his voice just as even, he explains slowly, “You want to be a doctor one day. You know it’s what you’re meant to do, and you’ve been working towards it for years. It’s the endgame, what you want more than anything, and you want to succeed and get that degree so much that you can taste it.

“But you’re not there yet. You have school and life to get through first, and for all you know, you could fail out or decide that you want to do research for cancer instead or hell, you could get hit by a bus tomorrow, which, y’know, try to _avoid_ that, please. Anyway, you know what your goal is, what you want more than anything, but you have to get there first, and there’s no telling how life will interfere in the meantime. And that’s not even bringing in the fact that you couldn’t just, y’know, jump into being a doctor without going through the prerequisites first – you have to take in everything now, learning and growing and figuring things out at your own pace.”

Kurt can see the blooming comprehension on Sebastian’s face as he continues, “At the end of the day, you want to be a doctor, know that that’s how you want to live your life and contribute to society, but you’re happy with the process now, even if it’s stressful and _long_ and full of curveballs. You’re willing to put in the work, willing to be patient, even if life may derail everything in the future without warning, all because you think it’s worth it, because you want it more than anything. You’re positive you’re going to be a doctor, but you have to be ready for it first, and the process is just as rewarding as the end result.”

“Well,” Sebastian says, and his voice is strange in a way that Kurt can’t quite figure out.

“Yeah,” Kurt says with a bit of a self-conscious laugh. “Obviously I love you, but I’m also definitely _in_ love with you. It’s just distant, because I know that I want it and I’m willing to be patient until you’re ready for me to say it. It’s like...it’s—there’s a switch in the back of my brain that’s been in the off position for forever and is just waiting to be flipped on, and it’d be so _easy_ to do it Sebastian, but it seems also seems unimportant in a way, because I’m in no rush and in the end it doesn’t matter. You’re my best friend first, and sure, if I allowed myself to flip that switch it’d be easier than breathing, but it’s something I’m unconcerned about right now. I’m happy just like this, and I’m not upset or disappointed or anything. You’re everything to me, with or without it, and even if you never are able to love me back, I’m okay with that too. I’m just happy being here, with you, for as long as you feel like you’ll let me be your best friend. So yeah, I’m in love with you, but also not. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says, still sounding odd. “Good analogy.”

Kurt laughs again. “Thanks. I’ve been working on it.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow cocks up. “How long then?”

Kurt shrugs. “A few years? I don’t know – you grow on people like a persuasive, clingy barnacle.”

Sebastian snorts, sloshing coffee over his fingers. He puts it down with a loud clunk, reaching for the paper napkins to wipe up his fingers and the table, and then says, “Well, thanks for being honest.”

Kurt takes a long swallow of his cooling coffee to clear up his dry throat and asks with a fair amount of both curiosity and trepidation, “What brought this on? My alleged total inability to separate sex and romantic relationships and still sleeping with you anyway?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh and then looks at him hard, the green almost grey in the muted lights. He seemingly ignores Kurt’s question as he says, “You know, right before Paris and before you and Blaine broke up, you told me that I’d find my perfect ten one day, even if it took me forever to allow myself to.”

Kurt freezes.

Sebastian smiles at Kurt’s reaction, a tiny little thing that almost could be a trick of the light if Kurt didn’t know Sebastian’s features so intimately, and there’s a voice in the back of Kurt’s head that’s a constant repeat of _oh-god-oh-god-oh-god_ at the soft yet nearly anxious look on Sebastian’s face. He feels like gravity just kicked him over the precipice after all, not from the physical attraction but because _this might be happening what is happening oh god please let it happen_.

“Found you,” Sebastian whispers, choked and weak.

Kurt’s eyes clench shut, biting down on his lips hard, because oh. _Oh_. Oh _God_, it _is_.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Sebastian breathes, and the tips of Sebastian’s cold fingers touch the backs of Kurt’s hands, light but there, gentle points of contact that ground him to the present even though his stomach is so full of fluttering nerves that he feels like he’s going to fly away. “I literally have nothing good to build on, but I’m going to try, because you are, you know. My ten. I’ve kind of known for years, but I wasn’t really ready yet, so I just pushed it to the back of my mind instead of forcing it. Which is good, I guess. That’s what Martha says, anyway, and she’s the licenced shrink, not me.”

Kurt’s eyes are burning beneath his closed lids as Sebastian murmurs, “You know what made it all click in my head? Ironically enough, it was sex. All these years, I’d be having sex with a guy, prepping him and fucking him and getting off on _him_ getting off on it, and there’d be a brief flash of ‘_maybe I should try this just to see_’. Sometimes I’d freak out in the middle of it, but more often than not I’d freak out afterwards, panic in a bathroom or something while the guy found his way out without being aware that I was freaking out in private, and then I’d forget about it for a few months before it’d pop up in my brain again.”

Sebastian pauses, then says in almost an awed tone, “But the first time we did it, I remember thinking that you got off on it, even though you prefer it the other way around, and I remember it popping up in my mind right as you were coming, wondering what it would feel like if _you_ did it instead of some stranger, and I swear to God, Kurt, I—I don’t even know how to explain it. I got off on the idea of it, and I didn’t panic after, and I remember watching you sleep afterwards, thinking ‘_okay so this is what it means when people say that you belong to someone, that this is what it means when they say that you want to give everything to another person._’ It clicked, right then, that this was what I wanted, and that I was ready for it, and that I was _gone_ for you, and I may not know what I’m doing, but I want everything.”

The first tear slips free, and one of Sebastian’s hands leaves his so he can wipe it away with his thumb as he whispers, “I’m yours, if you want me, and if you want to flip the switch, I’m...more than okay with that.”

Kurt feels a bit hysterical, and he knows he’s doing that silent crying thing that drives Sebastian batshit because he hates it when Kurt cries (and generally threatens dismemberment to the individual who caused it while he awkwardly hovers with cups of tea), but he can’t help but open his eyes and quip wetly, “You’re so soft, Sebastian Smythe.”

Sebastian scowls, though it’s weakened by the brightness of his eyes and the wild flush of his cheeks, and mutters without a single bit of heat, “I don’t like you.”

“That’s funny,” Kurt replies with a garbled, wet laugh. “That’s not what you said, like, two seconds ago.”

Sebastian shakes his head as he wipes the tears from Kurt’s eyes and then says quietly, “_Je t'aime, Kurt Hummel._”

Kurt flips the switch, and all he can do is reach for Sebastian, pulling him into his arms and kissing him as hard and desperately as he possibly can, pouring everything he has into it.

* * *

Kurt expects Sebastian to keep it quiet at first, to get used to it, but he _absolutely does not do that_.

They walk in the door and Sebastian says without fanfare to literally everyone in very serious French, “_I love him. We’re boyfriends._” Then he looks at Burt and Carole, who’re sitting with Theodore and Nina, and repeats in English just as seriously, “I love him. We’re boyfriends.”

Marguerite Leveque rolls her eyes and sarcastically drawls in heavily accented English, “You don’t say. Now sit down, you two, and drink your wine like proper gentlemen. It is family time, now.”

Burt and Theodore snort in unison.

“Oh my God,” Kurt squeaks, and does what he’s told.

* * *

Sebastian gets into pretty much every single school in the history of schools.

Fortunately, Kurt gets into an advanced track at the New School as well a few weeks after, though he also gets into a few of his backup schools, so they formalise Columbia and Parsons for the next year. It’s a big deal, and fortunately Kurt gets a few good scholarships to offset some of the cost since Kurt’ll have to quit Mormon to focus on school, though his dad can pay for it with the shop and the pay packet he gets from the government as a Congressman.

Sebastian and Kurt ease into their new relationship, which really isn’t that different from before, the only change being that they don’t go out to find boyfriends or men-of-the-night anymore. Other than that, it’s pretty much identical from before: they still go out to clubs with their friends to relax before school starts up, go to new restaurants and shows and films and concerts, sit around and bitch at reality television, avoid their parents when they get too weird, have loads of sex all over the flat, randomly touch each other and sleep in each other’s beds depending on which one they pass out in first, talk about everything and nothing, and argue constantly.

Well, except for the affirmations.

Sebastian actually says ‘_I love you_’ a lot, and no matter how many times Kurt tells him that, contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t _actually_ need to hear it every day, Sebastian seems to get a lot of enjoyment out of saying it. Kurt never gets used to it, just like he never gets used to the blinding grin Sebastian gives him when Kurt splutters at the soft affirmations. Somehow, Kurt thinks that’s the point, to knock Kurt off-balance and make him flush like a preteen.

They’re sitting on the couch, Sebastian’s legs over Kurt’s lap as he talks on his mobile with Carole while Kurt e-mails Isabelle, who wrote a recommendation for him to Parsons and is giving him a part-time job doing reviews of shows for the blog. It doesn’t pay much, but it’ll look good on his résumé and it’ll get his name out there publicly in the fashion world, just in case he does decide to go professional once he’s out of school. After all, he might go back to theatre, or simply do costume for it when he’s done – in any case, it’s still a good blip for his CV.

Kurt sends it and then tosses his mobile to the coffee table, laying his head on the back of the sofa and closing his eyes with a sigh. He absently strokes his fingers along Sebastian’s shins, barely able to hear the weirdly pleasant sound of his fingernails running over hair due to Sebastian’s conversation about...something to do with soy bottles? He has no idea what those two chat about sometimes, except it’s usually A&E stories from Carole’s career as a nurse and what Sebastian can expect.

He’s almost asleep when he vaguely hears Sebastian say goodbye to Carol and declare flatly, “Heterosexual men are fucking stupid.”

“Well, you’re not wrong, but I’d also argue that we’re just as stupid,” Kurt mumbles, vaguely disoriented from the cusp of sleep being tugged away by conversation.

“I still maintain that asexual people are the pinnacle of our evolution,” Sebastian says, not for the first time. It’d surprised Kurt the first time he’d heard Sebastian say it, considering it was _Sebastian_ saying it, but after long rants of how sexual attraction made everyone both idiots and prone to the complete inability to _do their fucking jobs_ because they were too busy being distracted by their genitals, he’s gotten used to that spiel too. Sebastian continues in that same flat tone, “Carol had a straight guy come into her ER today who’d self-administered a glass soy sauce bottle up his rectum. He was too nervous about ‘coming across as gay’—” And there are the sarcastic finger quotes. “—so he didn’t buy any proper toys, but he was curious about prostate stimulation and wanted to see what all the fuss was about in a ‘no-homo’ way.”

“While I will say that a soy sauce bottle is an inventive choice, it’s not like we don’t have glass dildos in our own collection,” Kurt points out, finally opening his eyes so he can look at his boyfriend. Then his eyes go wide and he asks with phantom sympathy, “It didn’t _break_, did it?”

“No, it didn’t break, thankfully for the dude in question, but it was _open_, Kurt,” Sebastian states, and Kurt flinches. “Yeah, no shit,” Sebastian remarks, an incredulous laugh bursting from his chest. “The suction ensured that it couldn’t be removed, so he had a painful and _expensive_ four-hour operation in the OR just because he didn’t want to ask his girlfriend to peg him or buy a goddamn toy like any self-respecting man who likes anal. Therefore, I reiterate: heterosexual men are fucking stupid.”

“That _is_ rather insane,” Kurt says with a shiver. “It’s not like all toys are shaped like dicks, and besides, Amazon exists for that exact reason.”

“Right?!” Sebastian exclaims, then pulls his legs off Kurt’s lap so he can stand up, reaching a hand out for Kurt. Airily, he says, “Wanna get a room and remind ourselves why being queer is awesome?”

“You’re the literal worst and I don’t know why I put up with your ass,” Kurt complains good-naturedly, but he does take the hand, a fission of desire starting to burn down his lower spine. He lets Sebastian crowd him for a moment, just sucking on Sebastian’s tongue when it slips into his mouth and groaning when Sebastian grabs his arse with both hands, squeezing and massaging before slipping his fingers into his crease through the pyjamas. Sebastian’s fully hard, and his own pyjamas are damp, which probably means that he’s been hard for a while, and that’s kind of weird, considering the bizarre conversation with Carol and the following conversation with Kurt. Still, he’s definitely on-board, and his own prick stirs with arousal, fattening up and balls beginning to prickle with sensation.

He’s not douched out and doesn’t want to spend the next few hours on foreplay as his body adjusts to a thorough cleaning, but that’s okay – their refractory periods aren’t too long, and as soon as they’re done basking in the afterglow, he’s definitely going to clean himself out for a good, hard fuck. Sebastian’s absolutely amazing at it, and he’s definitely game with getting Sebastian inside him as soon as they’ve taken the edge off.

Fuck, but being on the summer hols is the best.

They make their way to Kurt’s room, which is closer, hands roaming and mouths sucking at skin as it’s displayed, clothing dropping to the floor at random as they strip each other of their pyjamas. By the time they’re falling onto the bed, they’re completely naked and dripping, pricks sliding wetly against each other as Kurt straddles Sebastian’s thighs.

“It’s because my ass is awesome,” Sebastian says with a shit-eating grin, and Kurt stares at him dumbly for a moment until he backtracks to before they started tearing each other’s clothes off. He promptly groans, smacking Sebastian lightly upside the head and rolling his eyes when Sebastian laughs brightly.

“It’s a passable ass,” Kurt drawls, then leans down so he can swallow the sound of Sebastian’s mock-offended protest with his lips and tongue, grinding his hips into Sebastian’s prick just to hear the moan instead. There’s no talking then, just hands and teeth and tongue and soft sounds of arousal that they breathe against swollen mouths, everything hot and slick and so good as they draw each other up in practised, familiar movements, so in tune with each other’s bodies that it’s instinctive.

Kurt is so hard and desperate that he finally moves to wrap his hand around both of their rigid pricks, avoiding the foreskin of Sebastian’s prick because he doesn’t want to make Sebastian come quite yet. No, he prefers to come all over Sebastian’s erection and then jerk him off with it, slick and sloppy and sounding so loud between panting breaths and sharp cries.

He’s somewhat surprised when Sebastian slaps his hand away, lifting his body up until their chests are plastered together, pricks dripping and throbbing as they rest in between. “I don’t want your hand,” Sebastian says quietly, and there’s something in Sebastian’s face that makes Kurt pause, narrowing his eyes and stilling the absent twitches of his hips for friction.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, even though Sebastian doesn’t look like there’s something wrong. He just looks off, in a way that Kurt’s never seen before, not really. He continues with a slight frown, “I’m not prepped, if that’s what you’re asking for, and we both hate condoms.”

Sebastian cocks his head, takes a deep breath, and says very, _very_ evenly, “Yeah, _you’re_ not, but _I_ am.”

Kurt’s brain shorts out, then goes into overdrive, then shorts out yet again as Sebastian continues, “Can...I want to try. I want—I want you. I want to try. I promise I’ll tell you if anything’s wrong, and I’m okay. I’m really, _really_ okay right now, and I want to feel you. I want to try. Please let me—”

“You’re positive,” Kurt interrupts, his voice practically a croak, and all he can think about is the fact that Sebastian’s been hard for ages, judging by the dampness in his pyjamas (that’re somewhere in the corridor) before and the near-purple of his prick now. He’s been thinking about this, _wanting_ it, and now he’s asking to try, to share this with Kurt, and _fuck_.

Sebastian takes another deep breath, and yes, there’s a bit of nervous apprehension there, but his expression is calm and sure. “Yeah,” he says, his voice still steady and soothing, which is so fucking weird because it should probably be the other way around. “I’m definitely positive.” He takes another deep breath and then smiles, soft and shaky, as he whispers, “I want you.”

Kurt shivers all over and breathes out unsteadily, “Okay. Okay. Wow. Okay. Promise me again.”

“I promise I’ll tell you if anything’s wrong,” Sebastian murmurs, and then cups Kurt’s face with his palms so he can bring their faces together, mouths brushing soft and gentle against each other, a beautiful contrast from the earlier heat between them.

Kurt’s good at this, knows he’s good at this, knows he has a lot of experience _being_ good at this, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous in his life as he carefully helps Sebastian lay down on his back, his eyes wide and open and so very green as he stares at Kurt, watching him get a bottle of thick lube from the end table and place it on the mussed bedspread beneath them. It’s fucking terrifying, being trusted with something like this, and he’s horribly afraid that he’s going to hurt Sebastian, emotionally or physically or _whatever_. His hands won’t stop shaking, and he can feel his prick starting to soften a bit from the anxiety of it all. God, he doesn’t even know where to _start_, like he’s completely forgotten how to do this despite years of practise and experience doing it. It’s been so long since he’s slid inside someone – going on a year now, and that’s so strange – and knowing that it’s _Sebastian_ he’s going to be fingering, going to be—

“You’re thinking too much,” Sebastian says, his voice light and amused despite the penetrating, too-intense stare levelled at Kurt. “You know how to do this.”

“It’s different,” he chokes out. “It’s _so_ different. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Sebastian assures him.

“You don’t _know_ that,” Kurt rasps out, and it’s almost a sob.

Sebastian lifts himself up again, this time with his legs splayed widely around Kurt’s kneeling legs, and touches Kurt’s face gently, eyes boring into him like a brand. “If you’re not ready, that’s okay too, you know,” Sebastian says, earnest and calm. “That’s how this works. But if you’re balking because you’re afraid that you’re going to hurt me, you have nothing to worry about. You’re not that kind of person, and I trust you. I _trust_ you. You couldn’t hurt me even if you tried.”

Kurt laughs, a strangled and wet sound, and takes a deep breath, demanding shakily, “_Promise me_.”

Sebastian kisses him, soft and sweet and soothing, and whispers against his lips, “I promise.”

Kurt shivers, breathes, and then pulls himself together so he can kiss him back, long and lingering and heated, letting his teeth drag at Sebastian’s lip so he can hear him groan with arousal, a comforting balm on his jittery nerves. He’s still terrified but Sebastian’s still hard, his prick slick and wet against Kurt’s stomach, and that’s good, means he’s still comfortable and fully here, in the moment, _consenting_. Consent is important to Sebastian, and Kurt has to trust _him_ to know what he wants just as much as Sebastian trusts Kurt to be good for him.

Kurt is good at that, and somehow, it makes everything just a bit less nerve-wracking, the disjointed pieces of his brain finally connecting as he remembers how this goes, how he’s always made this good for his previous lovers, how _Sebastian’s_ made this good for _Kurt_ in the past nine months.

He slides down Sebastian’s body, hitting every sensitive point he has always known about and only recently got to experience first-hand. The tight tendons of his neck that he bites down on, sucking bruises into the skin. The freckles on his waxed chest and ribs that he loves to trace with his tongue until Sebastian’s just _shakes_ with desire. The dark, flat nipples that harden when he sucks one into his mouth and fondles the other with his fingers, switching when it’s swollen and damp with saliva. The grooves of his abdomen, not as defined now that he’s hydrating and eating properly but still decisively there, dotted with even more freckles. The taut skin around his navel, dusted with coarse, neatly-trimmed hair that leads to his prick and balls and thighs. The sharp protrusions of his hipbones, so gorgeous when Kurt’s sucked bruises into the olive skin, marking him with Kurt’s claim. The crease that separates his thighs from his hips and groin, so very sensitive when he presses soft kisses against the slightly damp skin.

Kurt looks up as he hovers above Sebastian’s gorgeous, uncut prick between spread legs, shivering at the sight of Sebastian flushed and glistening with sweat and saliva, eyes blown out and glazed as he stares at Kurt, face slack as he pants for oxygen. He’s so fucking _beautiful_ that it hits Kurt like a punch to the solar plexus, and he has to close his eyes for a second just to steady himself, his own prick starting to ache as it grows from his own arousal.

He says in a whisper, “I love you, Sebastian. I fucking _love_ you,” and then he guides Sebastian’s prick into his mouth, starting to work his erection as he reaches for the lube.

His hands don’t shake as he squirts it into his hands, rubbing them together to warm the oily lube, and they don’t shake as he gently nudges Sebastian’s legs even wider, massaging against the nerve-rich rim with the pad of his thumb to relax. There’s no need for that now – he knows what to do, how to make this good, and nerves have no place here. He’s making love to the man that he’s so fucking gone for, and this is a big deal but it’s also easy, because now there’s a goal in mind: make Sebastian feel so good he’s delirious with it as he removes every single fucking _stain_ that’s turned something so beautiful and pure into something to be afraid of in another life. He wants that, so much, wants Sebastian to experience this as pleasure, amazing and glorious gratification, and Kurt can give him that. He _will_ give him that.

He can feel Sebastian relaxing against him gradually, prick still thick and solid in his mouth despite the involuntary anxiety he knows Sebastian must be feeling, and he sucks at the foreskin of Sebastian’s prick until Sebastian sinks into the bedspread, hips unconsciously twitching into Kurt’s mouth and finger in a steady rhythm. Kurt tongues at the skin, humming in the back of his throat at the familiar flavour of Sebastian’s precome, and Sebastian whines, soft and wrecked, his body instinctively bearing down on Kurt’s thumb.

Kurt minutely adjusts his hand and slides his index finger inside, letting it rest still and patient as he sucks Sebastian all the way down his throat.

He’s positive that Sebastian hadn’t even felt it, completely distracted as Kurt’s throat flutters around his rigid prick, and he hums again, a bright burst of pleasure flaring in his chest at how easy it was. He’s tight and warm inside, slick from the thick lube on Kurt’s finger, and Kurt presses his lips against the root of Sebastian’s prick, feeling saliva drip down his chin as he intentionally convulses his throat to hear Sebastian moan thickly. His own prick throbs from the feeling of Sebastian lodged so deeply, eyes closing as he absently grinds against the mattress, and simply works his throat up and down, faster and sloppier, as he begins stroking up with his finger, searching and searching and—

Sebastian arches with a sharp, loud inhale, his prick jerking down Kurt’s throat hard enough for tears to start leaking from the corner of his eyes, and Kurt shudders all over while he rubs at the swollen little nub inside, massaging Sebastian’s prostate gently. He has to pull off a bit, just to suck in a harsh breath around the throbbing prick in his mouth, and _fuck_, Sebastian’s all but _gushing_ now, precome coating Kurt’s tongue as he’s worked inside and out.

“Oh my God oh my _God_—” Sebastian gasps, practically vibrating from the force of his shaking, and there’s _so much_ precome, practically an oozing flow of it that floods Kurt’s mouth slowly until he’s forced to swallow. Kurt knows that it’s simple biology, but it’s still so _unbelievable_ to watch Sebastian come apart from just a finger massaging his prostate, milking him for his come, that he has to pull off Sebastian’s prick entirely just to watch it dribble from his slit in a steady stream of thin, clear fluid.

He pulls his finger out, squirts more lube, and then gently pushes two inside, immediately going back for Sebastian’s prostate and committing its location to memory as Sebastian simply falls apart.

It’s a constant litany of slurred words that Kurt can barely decipher, a sensuous roll of Sebastian’s hips as he works himself on Kurt’s fingers, his prick dribbling and oozing in a constant flow. There’s just so much, and Kurt bites down on the flesh just above his hipbone just to muffle his own moan, tasting precome that’s pooling around his groin. He feels Sebastian orgasm, a long and drawn out rush of intense sensation that makes his insides flutter around his fingers and his body shudder, and Sebastian’s crying out loudly now, heaving for breath as the orgasm rolls through his entire person.

Kurt laps at the puddle of precome, his own prick so hard and wet that he has to arch his hips just to keep from accidentally coming from the friction of the mattress, and works Sebastian more firmly, gasping harshly as Sebastian jerks wildly from the overwhelming feeling of it, one orgasm feeding into another cresting wave that makes Sebastian actually _shout_, the sheer volume of it echoing in the dark room.

Suddenly he’s being grabbed by the wrist and his fingers are unceremoniously pulled out, just in time for Sebastian to shakily yank at him, words tumbling from his mouth in an incomprehensible slur as he tries to get Kurt close, his legs wrapping around Kurt’s waist like a vice the second Kurt’s in between his legs. Sebastian’s arm flails out for the lube even as he grinds his prick against Kurt’s, and now Kurt can hear the words – _fuck please need you inside please_ – that shoot straight down his spine until it’s heavy in his tight balls, so heady and warm.

He jerks and then moans when Sebastian’s hands, slick with cold lube, begin stroking his aching prick, and then he grits his teeth as he flips them around with a burst of adrenaline, Sebastian straddling his hips widely. “Want you riding me,” he rasps, eyes stinging with sweat as he stares at the flushed, wrecked expression on Sebastian’s face. “Want you to take me, Sebastian, make yourself feel good.”

Sebastian lets out a thick moan, lifting himself up with his knees and reaching behind himself, lining up Kurt’s rock-hard prick until he’s _oh so slowly_ dropping down, taking Kurt’s prick inside his body in a clenching, vice-like slide of pure fire.

“_Oh_,” Sebastian whispers and Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so beautiful: green eyes wide and completely glazed, swollen mouth parted around breathy gasps, the glisten of sweat that shines with different colours from the city lights outside, the deep flush that starts at the very tips of his ears and spreads down his chest, the rhythmic twitching of lean muscles beneath damp skin.

He’s the most beautiful thing Kurt’s ever seen, and all Kurt can do it surge up, hands at Sebastian’s sharp hips while Sebastian’s arms go around his neck, using Kurt’s shoulders to brace himself so he can work his hips in a slow, circular grind.

It’s not enough friction along Kurt’s prick to get him off, but Sebastian’s _shaking_ as he arches into his own movements, thick and choked sounds tearing from his throat as he rotates his hips to get friction against his prostate, and that’s more of a turn-on than anything. He just feels, his prick being clenched in tight heat and Sebastian moving against him, and just holds on when Sebastian slowly starts fucking himself on Kurt’s prick, gradually going harder and _harder_. His eyes flutter shut, threatening to roll back into his skull, but he forces himself to watch Sebastian get himself off on Kurt’s prick, watch Sebastian drop one arm from Kurt’s shoulder so he can touch himself, a long and rough moan echoing in the room. The sound of Sebastian’s body opening around him is deliriously arousing, and Kurt can’t stop the impulse to jerk his own hips up as Sebastian slams down, groaning when Sebastian cries out sharply, all but sagging against Kurt as his insides convulse around his prick.

God, Kurt can’t take this anymore, and he grits his teeth as he begins thrusting as hard as he can, shallow and deep, unable to get much give because of Sebastian’s weight. It’s fucking _amazing_ though, and Sebastian cries out again, his knuckles flying against Kurt’s stomach as he pulls his prick fast, body shuddering wildly as he just _takes_ it, so relaxed and open around him even as he begins tensing with impending orgasm. Kurt’s fingers dig into Sebastian’s hips, guiding his movements to go hard and rough, and he rasps feverishly, “God, you’re beautiful, you’re _beautiful_, just _look_ at you, I love you so much Sebastian oh my _God_ I love you I love you I _love_ you—”

Sebastian goes taut, insides fluttering around Kurt’s prick, and then he’s jerking uncontrollably, the first hot pulse of spunk spurting out of his slit while Sebastian practically curls into Kurt, his teeth sinking into Kurt’s neck around a guttural moan of pure relief. His body tightens around Kurt’s pistoning prick so hard it’s almost painful, and Kurt feels his own orgasm crest in a bright flash of sensation, from his balls to the tip of his prick as he drenches Sebastian’s insides with his come.

They lurch against each other, hard and almost vicious, and Sebastian’s practically seizing on top of him as the oversensitivity hits him, sharp whines whistling through his mouthful of flesh as Kurt works his prick into Sebastian’s body until Kurt’s flinching himself as his balls run dry. He collapses back to the bedding, pulling Sebastian’s convulsing body on top of him and hissing as his prick slips out of Sebastian’s body with a lewd squelch, and then he just pulls him close while they both come down from the too-brief high of climax.

The pant against each other for a long time, shivering from the cool air against their sweaty skin, and Kurt strokes Sebastian’s spine soothingly. He can hear Sebastian whispering his name over and over again, and Kurt just hums under his breath, pressing kisses against Sebastian’s damp hair softly.

“Wow, okay, that was absolutely unbelievable and we should do that again as soon as humanly possible,” Sebastian finally says in a choked murmur, and then he immediately adds, “Oh my God, I am _so_ sorry.”

And Kurt doesn’t even have the chance to freeze with panic before Sebastian’s burying his face into Kurt’s neck, shaking so hard that Kurt has to squeeze him close just to keep him from falling off Kurt’s body completely.

The panic does hit for about two seconds, bright and awful in his chest, until he realises what’s happening, only from the hitched breaths and a warm wetness starting to drip down his neck until it’s pooling in the dip of his collarbone. Then it’s just a bone-deep mixture of both unimaginable pain and miserable relief, and all he can do is turn them to their sides so he can crush their bodies together in a tight embrace, Sebastian’s face plastered into the sparse hair on Kurt’s chest as he oh-so-obviously tries to keep it locked inside, all but silent. “It’s okay, Sebastian,” he whispers into damp hair, pressing a kiss against the crown of Sebastian’s head and running his fingers down Sebastian’s spine in slow strokes.

“I—I don’t know what’s happening,” Sebastian manages to get out, and his voice is so small and confused that it breaks Kurt’s heart.

“Just let it out,” he says in reply, quiet but sure. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m right here, so just get it out, let it happen. I’m right here, okay?”

There’s a long moment where Sebastian just shakes and gasps in near-silent, jagged breaths, and then Sebastian’s iron-clad control he’s been maintaining since he was fucking _nine-years-old_ breaks into a thousand pieces, loud and raw, like an open wound subjected to pure salt and fire. The anguish that rips from his throat is just _devastating_, wracking and explosive and violent, and Kurt feels his own tears drip down his cheeks into Sebastian’s hair even as he holds and soothes and murmurs, just being present as Sebastian finally, _finally_ releases everything he’s been keeping locked tight in every iota of his person since he was a child, confused and afraid and in so much pain.

It goes on for what seems like forever, every sob that tears from deep within Sebastian’s chest making Kurt ache with phantom grief and a simmering rage. There are tears everywhere, mixed with snot and drool and tacky come and sweat and God knows what else, and Sebastian feels like a furnace, overheated and dripping with perspiration as he shudders uncontrollably, but eventually it quiets into a soft, quiet snuffling as he literally cries himself to sleep against Kurt’s chest.

He doesn’t want to pull away, doesn’t even want to stomach the thought, but Sebastian has to get cleaned up, so Kurt forces himself to get up, carefully unwrapping his arms from Sebastian’s shivering, slumbering body so he can tiptoe away to the bathroom. He quietly shuffles around, turning on the tap so the water will run hot as he rubs at the drying fluids all over his chest and neck and face, heart heavy. It takes entirely too long for steam to start billowing out of the faucet, and he hurriedly wets a flannel with a small flinch from the hot water and then makes his way back to bed, gently manoeuvring Sebastian’s dead weight until he can wipe him clean: his swollen eyes and face, his tacky skin, the come and lube flaking off his thighs and still somewhat oozing from his body.

Then he crawls back into bed fully, pulling Sebastian’s lax body towards the dry part of the bed, and pulls the covers over them, cocooning them in warmth that does absolutely nothing to quell Sebastian’s shudders. He periodically wipes away yet more tears that seep from Sebastian’s swollen eyelids even as he sleeps, and cries a bit more himself, turning his face awkwardly so he can muffle his own sobs into a pillow while he continues to stroke and soothe and hum thickly under his breath, trying to comfort even though Sebastian isn’t conscious to hear him.

He is exhausted and drained, head pounding painfully, but he can’t sleep, can’t turn off his brain for long enough to fall into slumber. He doesn’t want to be unconscious himself when Sebastian wakes, and even though it doesn’t help that his aching head won’t stop _thinking_, he is thankful for it when Sebastian eventually does smack his lips – three times, like clockwork, so familiar after all these years – and opens his eyes, completely awake but bleary-eyed in a single moment.

Sebastian blinks for a long moment, eyes crusted and swollen, and then attempts to sniff through his nose, completely ineffectually. He tries again, groans, and finally says in a sleep-rough mumble, “I feel like I got hit by a bus and lost.”

Kurt huffs out a weak, tired laugh, and Sebastian blinks again, bloodshot eyes looking up from Kurt’s chest before his gaze is darting away again. “Sorry,” he says, voice cracking. “I didn’t—”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Kurt interrupts quietly. “That was a long time coming, and I’m just happy I was here. Are you okay?”

Sebastian takes a long time to respond, his body still for the first time in what feels like ages, but eventually he says, “I’m okay. I’m really okay. I’m not, like, freaking out or anything, I’m just...shit—”

Kurt pulls him in close again, cradling his head as Sebastian starts crying again, just trying to be there for him. It’s not unexpected – being that bottled up for so long isn’t healthy for anyone, and Kurt knows intimately how much Sebastian’s been bottling up over the past almost-two _decades_. Still, it fucking hurts to see Sebastian like this, to know that he’s completely at odds with his own body as it releases all that pent-up grief and pain outside of his control, and even though he still feels that horrible relief that Sebastian’s finally getting it out, it still aches.

Sebastian’s little breakdown doesn’t last for very long, and mercifully it’s not as soul-crushingly violent this time. In a raw, hoarse voice, Sebastian croaks through his congestion, “I don’t know why this is happening.”

“It’s pretty normal, actually,” Kurt assures him, then admits, “and as a well-documented expert in emotional breakdowns, you’ll probably be like this for a few days.”

Sebastian groans faintly while his hands snake between their bodies, pulling away slightly so he can rub at his eyes hard. “It’s kind of pathetic,” Sebastian mumbles.

“I take offence to the implication that I’m pathetic,” Kurt tries to joke.

Sebastian does laugh, a loud and amused bark of noise, but then suddenly he’s crying _again_, this time so weak and exhausted that Kurt can’t help but wince. “Why won’t it _stop_?” he moans thickly, sounding utterly miserable, and Kurt cringes again, simply pulling at Sebastian until his face is buried in Kurt’s neck, his hands free to stroke up and down Sebastian’s over-hot skin while Sebastian all but plasters himself on top of Kurt’s body.

This time, when Sebastian cries himself to sleep, he goes completely still, leaving him in a near-comatose state of unconsciousness for a solid sixteen hours.

Kurt doesn’t sleep for a single second of it.

* * *

The random bouts of emotional overload happen over the course of two solid weeks.

It freaks out everyone they know when it happens at the most inopportune times – like during dinner in Soho, or right after he takes a sip of his mid-morning coffee, or in the middle of a mocking argument with Santana, or right before he says goodbye to his mother over FaceTime – and Sebastian damn well _hates_ it, but it doesn’t really let up until he’s finally drained himself dry.

After that, it’s just sporadic, sometimes with tears and sometimes without it – he’s processing and releasing emotions as they come like the average human being instead of bottling them up, and Kurt’s relieved at the normalcy of it. Sure, Sebastian’s not bursting into uncontrollable tears every time he has a bad day, and he’s still not generally a crier like Kurt is, but he still lets it out if he needs to, which is really, really good.

The first few times they do anal again, Sebastian still cries a bit whether he’s taking _or_ receiving, but it slowly falls into a steady calmness, just two men enjoying the pleasure of it all without any of the trauma making it almost over-bright from too much emotion.

And by the time the summer hols come to an end, he realises that they’ve fallen into a natural pattern, Sebastian just naturally attuned to love bottoming a hell of a lot more than topping, the complete opposite of Kurt himself.

It’s just another way to prove that they’re compatible, and honestly, it’s extremely humbling that Sebastian gave him that last piece of himself and loves it so much that he barely _ever_ wants to do it the other way around anymore.

It’s just...

There are no words to express that emotion, so he doesn’t even bother trying.

* * *

“We should get married,” Kurt says before he takes another bite of his Pad Ka Na, eyeing the buildings outside.

Sebastian doesn’t even look up from his mobile, busy setting up the night’s festivities, as he says absently, “You’re not going to hear me say no to that. When d’you want to be tied to me for life?”

“Literally right now,” Kurt says, and grins when Sebastian jolts a bit, finally looking up at him with slightly widened eyes. He continues with a gesture outside the window, “The clerk’s office is only a block away. I can see the building from here.”

Sebastian blinks at him for a moment, then says slowly, “I’m pretty sure there’s a twenty-four-hour waiting period between getting a license and actually getting it officiated.”

Kurt frowns but immediately brightens. “Tonight can be our bachel—I mean, our stag night,” he states cheerfully. “Then we can have a sleep-in, get brunch, get married, and then have sex for the rest of the night before I start classes the next day.”

Sebastian blinks at him some more and finally says, just as slowly, “You want to have a shotgun wedding. The king of drama and ceremony. The man who’s been planning his own wedding since he was four. _You_ want a shotgun wedding. With _me_. Right now. _You_.”

“Yep,” Kurt says, popping the last consonant with relish because he’s actually kind of liking this spontaneous idea more and more the longer he thinks about it. It’s not like they _haven’t_ talked about getting married, including with each other’s families, but it was always a thing for their future selves to worry about. This way, there’s no stress on top of everything that’s going to be on their plates for the next few years or more, and he decides to say as much. “By Friday, we’ll both be drowning in schoolwork and internships, even during the summer, so it’ll be three to four years of constant flailing. Might as well do it now. We can do the big ceremony before you start your residency.”

Sebastian stares at him for a long, long time – long enough for Kurt to finish his food and half of Sebastian’s ignored edamame in nervous anticipation – before he snorts loudly and says around an airy sigh, “Eh, what the hell. I’ve always wondered how I’d die, and being murdered by our family and friends for getting hitched without a spectacle is a fun way to go.”

Kurt laughs brightly and follows Sebastian out of the restaurant.

It ends up taking four hours because they read online that they have to have a bunch of documents, but eventually they get it filed and sorted. They head in the general direction of their NoHo flat when they’ve finished applying for their license, chatting endlessly about school and how their families are actually going to react when they tell them (which is going to be _just before_ it’s official because they will be _murdered for real_ if they don’t tell them beforehand) and who they should pick to officiate, and then make a detour to get rings when Kurt sees a display. Kurt gets a matte-silver platinum band that will go with everything he owns, and Sebastian gets a matching one in matte-black – they pay for each other’s ring and then slip the boxes into their respective pockets, finally heading home to get ready for their last night out as non-students and unmarried men.

Which, _holy hell_, that’s a crazy thought.

Predictably, their friend group loses their collective shits and they get blindingly drunk, everyone buying Kurt and Sebastian drinks like it’s going out of style. It’s probably not the best idea but it’s admittedly really fun, and they’re at one of their regular spots so it’s not like the entire bar isn’t celebrating with them. It does go remarkably downhill the more drunk he gets, and the last thing Kurt remembers of the night is a weak joke about _starting early with the ‘in sickness and in health’ pumpkin_ as he heaves into a toilet and then passing out in the middle of Sebastian’s (their) bed before he can so much as get out his clothes, let alone have some sloppy pre-marital sex.

He wakes up to the worst hangover in mankind and Rachel forcing him to choke down Advil and water as Elliott drags Sebastian from his position on the bathroom floor and into bed, Sebastian groaning miserably every second he’s conscious. Then Kurt’s being yanked out of his clothes until there’s nothing but his briefs hiding him from Rachel’s eyes (not that she hasn’t seen him naked over the years, to be fair), and he’s finally allowed to go back to sleep for a few more hours.

He feels a little better when he wakes up for the final time, sometime in mid-afternoon judging by the sun coming through the curtained window, and Kurt says groggily to the man who’s breathing too evenly to be asleep, “Ready to get married?”

“I don’t want to get out of my pyjamas,” Sebastian mutters into his pillow, his face smashed against it. Kurt’s pretty sure that he’d die of either suffocation or humidity overload if he did that, but Sebastian’s a weird duck and Kurt wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

“Okay,” Kurt slurs, and he’s pretty sure he’s dying or something. Hell, he thinks he might still be drunk too, if he’s honest. He heaves himself up, head positively splitting, and blindly stumbles to his bathroom for more Advil, knocking pretty much everything in his medicine cabinet into the sink because he is insanely uncoordinated. At least he’ll medicate – Sebastian wouldn’t even take Tylenol when he broke his wrist playing lacrosse a few years back, let alone over-the-counter painkillers for a hangover.

Kurt distinctly remembers hangovers not being a real thing, and fuck, he hates getting older.

Honestly, Kurt also doesn’t want to get dressed, and in a way it’s kind of hilarious, the idea of having a shotgun wedding in his _pyjamas_ while horrifyingly hungover. His internal pre-teen and teenaged self is screaming bloody murder, but honestly, he’s pretty okay with it all. Like he’d said yesterday before they’d filed, they can have the big ceremony when they’re both done with their next round of school, right before Sebastian starts the madness of residency and Kurt makes the decision as to what he’s actually going to do for the rest of his life. At that point, the pressure will be off because they’d have years of marriage under their belts and nothing more to prove, all of their family can have plenty of warning to make the travel arrangements, _and_ they can have the long, extended honeymoon somewhere before round three of adulthood starts.

Kurt’s been planning his own wedding since four-years-old, and while he’s still very excited about having the long, drawn out ceremony like a proper married couple, he’s honestly more interested in the ‘honeymoon’ part now that he’s older and more concerned with holidays and sex rather than faerie-tale romance. Spending a few weeks in Europe – unanimously decided on during the walk home yesterday – just driving around various countries and simply _being_ sounds remarkably calming and lovely, and he is very much looking forward to that long-overdue break.

Especially with Sebastian.

They get up and brush their teeth, then stumble into the living room, where their friends and Dr Matthews (all of whom are dressed a lot more respectfully than Kurt and Sebastian are, to everyone’s general amusement) are all congregated with blueberry waffles and coffee. It’s Kurt’s favourite food but he also thinks he might vomit if he eats anything, so he just inhales multiple cups of drip coffee in tandem with his soon-to-be husband and croaks out apologies for not eating. Maybe it’s just because they're getting married, but for once Rachel doesn’t even complain that her _culinary talents_ have been wasted like she normally would. Then they FaceTime their families on three different computers (Dad and Carole, Theodore and Nina, and Armelle) and four mobiles (both sets Sebastian’s of _grands-parents_, Mercedes and her boyfriend, and Kurt’s Aunt Mildred) and predictably go through the dual reactions: loud excitement and congratulations as well as betrayed dejection that they hadn’t been able to be there for it. Still, after a slurred explanation about their plans for an official ceremony and subsequent honeymoon a few years in the future, everyone stops yelling over each other and they all stand up to finally do the deed.

Dr Matthews, an ordained minister via the good ‘ol fashioned internet and one of Sebastian’s biggest cheerleaders over the past four years, officiates it in the middle of their apartment, talking through everyone’s miserable groaning and loud laughter (including her own). The entire process takes about ninety seconds, the longest part being Kurt and Sebastian attempting to choke out their obligatory “I Do” through a mixture of throbbing pain in their heads and uncontrollable crying, which only makes the pain in their heads worse.

The whole thing would’ve been pathetic if Kurt wasn’t so unbearably happy and in love, and there is nothing more amazing than slipping a ring on Sebastian’s shaking finger, watching him cry and groan simultaneously as Kurt claims him for the rest of their lives.

They’re both pulled into a massive group hug but all Kurt can see is Sebastian, so goddamn beautiful and perfect as his flushed, deliriously happy face glistens with tears. Kurt brushes the tears away and grins until his face aches from the strength of it, unable to take his eyes off his husband – his fucking _husband_ – even as he signs the form and allows a sobbing Rachel to be his witness. Elliott, Sebastian’s best friend outside of Kurt, signs as well, and he’s bawling too, blotchy and swollen from the force of it. The sheer noise from both the in-person attendees as well as the dozen people watching from devices ends up making one of their neighbours bang on the door with irritation, but once more explanations are made, the stranger ends up freaking out and bringing over an astonishing amount of wine and champagne with heartfelt congratulations himself, which is crazy until they invite him to celebrate and learn that he’s both bisexual and literally a wedding photographer for both a magazine and as freelance.

Kurt’s pretty sure that Elliott ends up spending the night at Reggie’s place, even though that’s the least of his concerns at that moment.

Eventually Sebastian throws everyone out and turns off the devices so they can have sloppy, newly-married foreplay-and-sex on the couch, the wall in their bedroom, the bed itself, and then the floor right beside their bed when they fall out of it entirely.

It’s amazing, and spectacular, and wonderful, and utterly perfect, and Kurt wonders if it’s actually physically possible to die of happiness. He certainly hopes not, because he’s looking forward to the rest of his life with this indescribable, hot mess of a man.

“I love you,” Kurt tells him, when they’re sleepy and sated and trying to stay awake to touch each other despite Kurt starting classes in just a few hours, and when Sebastian smiles, slow and languid and blissful, saying it back in a soft sigh, Kurt feels completely, totally whole.


	5. Epilogue: Moments

Epilogue  
_Moments_

–

“But no matter how much evil I see, I think it’s important for everyone to understand that there is much more light than darkness.”  
Robert Uttaro

There are moments when one’s entire life changes.

Kurt has experienced a lot of those moments in his life: his mother’s car accident and death; seeing Sebastian Smythe bruised and battered on a bench in front of a Columbus A&E graduating from college; marrying Sebastian in his pyjamas in the front room of their old NoHo flat; his first fashion show with his own designs; his father’s cancer recurrence that eventually did take his life at eighty-seven. So many moments in his long and rather remarkable life, both good and bad, and it’s shaped his entire existence to make him the man that he is today.

His favourite moment will always be watching his husband holding their tiny, screaming daughter in his gloved hands, his green eyes bright with tears, seeing the completely wrecked expression on his face as he just _looks_ at her with awe.

Kurt and Sebastian have done some amazing, spectacular things in their lives, but Charlie – Charlotte Elizabeth Hummel-Smythe, undoubtedly perfect and an _absolute pain in the arse_ – is the best thing they’ve ever done.

Kurt’s old and achy now, after over fifty years of marriage and a fruitful career in both showbusiness and general fashion, and despite the next chapter of his life starting to look clearer and sharper every day, he’s not afraid of what comes after because his life has been full. He’s watched his husband save lives and excel in his career until he finally retired for a life of leisure – ‘_Naturally_,’ Sebastian says, face heavily lined with age but green eyes just as bright and vibrant as ever behind square-framed glasses, ‘_because I fit the sexy-as-fuck requirements to be a kept man_’ – and be the best father a child could possibly have. He’s watched their daughter become a remarkable, successful journalist with a Pulitzer Prize to her name and marry a wonderful man who respects her boundaries as a strong asexual woman. He’s become a grandfather to two amazing children, one adopted and the other courtesy of a surrogate, and gets to send them back to their stay-at-home father eyeballs-deep in a sugar high, which never fails to make Sebastian cackle.

There are moments when one’s entire life changes, for better and for worse.

And Kurt wouldn’t change a single one of them.


End file.
